“But nothing. I came out here for a serious discussion about our client, not to be treated like this.” Sullivan dusted her hands off, rubbed them against her pants again and stepped back. “I should’ve known. You’re no help. Tell your boss about her blouse. I’ll post her orders in the kitchen. You can read, can’t you?”
“Umm, yeah.” He watched the dirty butt prints on her jeans bounce with every step she took away from him. What the hell just happened?
Nurse Sullivan might be uptight and rude, but he’d seen her interest in Whisper and Smoke. He’d also seen tension below the nasty attitude she exuded—or thought she had to. He’d lived through enough crap. He’d seen worse behavior in nastier guys. It usually disguised something else.
She wasn’t just afraid of the dogs. No way.
Wait a minute. Did I just tell her I’d leave my pistols at the back step?
Chapter Ten
The nerve of that man.
Shelby couldn’t get away from Agent Cartwright fast enough. Humph. As if he knows anything about taking care of a sick patient, much less a sick woman, much less—anything!
She’d intended the back door to slam behind her, hoping to punctuate her aggravation and let him know exactly what she thought of him. It didn’t. No. Some thoughtful homeowner had installed a hydraulic hinge to cushion its closure. Probably the same guy who’d remodeled that exquisite bathroom for Kelsey. Didn’t it figure?
It only made her angrier. Shelby rubbed a shiver off her biceps, not that she was cold, just aggravated she’d fallen on her butt in front of Agent Cartwright. And embarrassed. The jerk had laughed. He always seemed to get the upper hand, and it bugged her.
Darn. Who knew dogs could be so smart? She didn’t, and of course he’d enlightened her once again just as he’d done with the skid marks. The problem with this more recent enlightenment was the jolt of energy that came with it, an awareness that tickled when he’d taken hold of her hand.
Tickled, nothing.
More like it shocked the heck out of her. He had strong fingers. Hard as rock biceps. Heck, the whole guy was hard and strong. That single touch had all but sizzled up her arm and over her shoulders. And other places. It meant nothing, absolutely nothing, but still…
The scent of some manly body wash that made her tongue lick her lips every time he got too close. He was not at all what she’d expected from an Army guy.
She turned, dusting her pants while she kept an eye on Cartwright and those dogs from the back door, which opened directly off the kitchen. He’d tossed the bone a few more times and of course the dogs loved him. But did he have any idea how the air rippled with every breath he took?
She did. Every time she got close to him, her pulse rate skyrocketed—and she didn’t even like him. Not really. Cartwright was minor league good-looking. Nothing to brag about. Athletic. Broad shouldered. The stereotypical well-groomed, mahogany-haired, chiseled-ab kind of guy on the cover of GQ, Men’s Health or Esquire and…
Oh. My. Heck.
A sigh sneaked up on her. Those eyes, green and glorious. Deep. Enticing. A woman could fall into them and do it willingly. Deep laugh lines that resembled rays of sunshine bracketed them when he smiled. Everything about him seemed to draw her in. Her heart thumped with another round of palpitations just thinking of those sexy eyes. And that smile.
Yeah. Okay. So he’s good-looking. Looks aren’t everything, but darn. Her nipples had noticed him, too, pebbling on sight and downright tingling, as if they had minds of their own and knew exactly what they wanted. The pads of his thumbs. Maybe a gentle scrape from his fingernails. His tongue. His teeth.
Stop it. Get your mind out of the gutter!
She very nearly chuckled. The guy did have large hands, though, and long, straight fingers with clean nails. He was gentle with those awful dogs, gentle when he ran his fingers over their heads, tickling their ears the same way he might tickle a woman’s—
No.
No.
No!
He’s not my type. I hate military jerks who wave their rifles and parade their guns and flags for attention. Not my type at all.
Cartwright didn’t have a buzz cut, but he might as well have. All that mahogany hair had been precisely combed and managed with some kind of hair product. Maybe mousse. Or gel. Do you think it’s soft?
No.
No.
No!
Everything about him smacked ex-military, from the proud way he carried himself to his ma’am this and ma’am that. But he didn’t mean it with respect. Maybe with Kelsey he did. Cartwright seemed to light up around her. The jerk.
You’re jealous of Kelsey.
Who me? Oh, heavens no!
Shelby shushed her wandering mind at the very idea. Where did that stupid thought come from, the moon? It might as well have. No. She really liked Kelsey. She’d do anything for her client, even put up with—
“The soup’s ready,” Agent Lennox said behind her. “Are you hungry?”
Startled, Shelby whirled to face the other problem in the house. She’d been so engrossed in Gabe that she hadn’t noticed Agent Zack Lennox across the room at the stove. Also ex-military. Darn it. Had he heard her encounter with Gabe and the dogs? Worse. Had he seen her at the window salivating over his buddy in the back yard?
A tidal wave of heated embarrassment lifted up her body, spilling over her neck and face. Oh, God. I’m surrounded.
The man radiated testosterone. All that mocha-colored skin didn’t help. He was a big bruiser of a guy with a shaved head. Dark brows lifted over darker eyes on a handsome face. A black polo fit snug across his chest, as snugly as it did over his biceps. At the moment, all that masculinity was quietly offset with a kitchen towel tucked into his belt and the soup ladle in his hand.
At least he was a gentleman. He’d come straight into Kelsey’s kitchen after Mark and Libby had left earlier and actually did something helpful, unlike Cartwright. He’d taken off the second his boss left. The slacker.
Shelby couldn’t help it. The tantalizing aroma of garlic, basil, and oregano filled her nostrils. Her stomach growled, despite her discomfort.
“I am hungry. Kelsey must be, too, but first I need to make a few things clear,” she said, regaining her composure. “If we’re going to work and live together, which I guess we are, we need a few ground rules. First, no dogs in the house. They’re dirty. We need to keep things as clean as possible for Kelsey’s benefit.”
She paused in case Agent Lennox wanted to argue, which he’d better not. She had statistics on her side. Animals spread germs and hair everywhere they went. Period. No discussion to it.
He lifted one shoulder, as if he could care less.
“Secondly, please use the boot trays I’ve placed at the front and back doors. That tiny courtesy alone will keep the floors cleaner and help Kelsey recover quicker.”
He rested the ladle on the counter beside the stove, a gentle smile tugging one side of his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest and faced her. “Anything else, Miss Shelby?”
At last. A guy who listened. Kind of. He didn’t seem to remember that part about calling her by her official title, but oh well. Calling her Miss Shelby was a small infringement. She could concede that one small point.
She took a deep breath, encouraged by his compliance. “No guns in the house. I’d appreciate it if you and Agent Cartwright stored your weapons at the front door.”
“What is it you think we do?” he asked, his dark brown eyes riveted to hers. “I haven’t had time to talk with you yet. I’d like to know precisely what Mark and Libby told you about Gabe and me and why we’re here.”
“Just that you’re bodyguards. You’re here to protect Mrs. Stewart in case, I don’t know...” She rolled her eyes, “. . . something bad happens now that she’s home.”
“I take it you don’t believe she was run off the road like she said she was? You don’t believe she’s in danger. You don’t believe her.”
Of course, I
believe her. It’s you guys I don’t trust.
Shelby opted to keep her opinion to herself. What happened at the river was tragic, but here in Alexandria, things were different. Despite the lower class neighborhood, patrol cars made daily rounds. She’d seen them more often than she’d expected. “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I’m here to do a job, the same as you. I’m her health care provider. You keep her safe. I’ll get her healthy. Deal?”
“No, ma’am. It’s not that simple. Gabe and I aren’t just bodyguards. We worked with Kelsey’s husband before he was killed. When it comes right down to it, I guess you could safely say we love her. We’re family.”
Enough with the melodrama. “Next you’re going to tell me you’d die for her.”
Agent Lennox didn’t even blink. “If dying’s what it takes.”
Darn. This wasn’t going well. Honestly, did he think he could impress her with all his military machismo? She stood her ground. At least she tried.
“You gave me your rules, now here are mine,” he said. “Until we know who murdered Kelsey’s husband, Gabe and I are here to stay, so you need to climb down and back off. We’re not here to fight you, but we have a job to do and we’ll do it. The boot trays are a good idea, but we’re on call twenty-four-seven. Boots and weapon are not optional. They stay. The dogs? They’re Kelsey’s. If she wants them inside, they’ll come inside. Hell, I don’t care if they sleep with her if it makes her feel better. As for you, stay indoors as much as possible. Do your job. Things are pretty quiet right now, but that can change. Let Gabe or me know if you need to leave the premises. I’m fine with your menu plan. You already know I’ll take my turn fixing meals. The soup should speak for itself.”
Great. He only agreed to the menu. Well, we’ll see about that.
“Why don’t you call the police if you’re so worried about Mrs. Stewart’s safety? Why do you think you have to take the law into your own hands? Are your guns registered?”
He didn’t bat an eye. “Yes, ma’am. We follow the laws of the land, same as you, but we’re here because the police can’t provide around-the-clock coverage like we can. Kelsey trusts us more than she trusts them, anyway. She might not be thinking quite right yet, but she wants us here.”
Shelby leaned against the back door, her hands behind her back. This guy thought he was pretty clever. Not so. Again, she had statistics on her side. “You do know that guns kill hundreds of innocent people every year, don’t you? The facts speak for themselves. Guns kill people.”
“No, ma’am. People kill people. Guns are tools, like steak knives and hammers. Besides, it’s not the law-abiding citizens who register their guns I’m worried about. It’s the guys who killed Kelsey’s husband and who might still come after her. Do you think they registered their weapons? Do you honestly believe the police could’ve gotten to her in time to help her that day at the river?”
Shelby swallowed hard. That was exactly what she’d believed. She’d lived a protected life and attended all the best schools. Not once had she doubted what her parents espoused. Law and order. The police arriving in time. Things like that.
Zack made the world sound scary and unpredictable enough that everyone should be armed, something she wasn’t willing to accept. She couldn’t let him have the last word. Some things could still be controlled. “I’m posting a menu. We will eat healthy while I’m here.”
He had the audacity to offer one sexy, chocolate-eyed wink, his face crinkled into a gentle smile. “Why do you think I fixed soup? Nothing helps a person feel better than homemade yeast rolls and chicken noodle. Sit down. Take a load off. You’ll feel better once you eat, too.”
“Well, okay. Let me see if Kelsey is ready to eat. It does smell good.”
“I’ll call Gabe. He’s been working all day. He must be starved like me.”
Shelby squared her shoulders and changed her mind. “Never mind. I’ll eat later.”
Mark turned his attention to Taylor. “Go ahead. Tell us what you’ve got.”
Most agents had worked through the night. Coffee cups cluttered the Situation Room conference table as information trickled in. Rory and Connor had yet to venture forth from the garage where they’d torn into Kelsey’s car.
Ember had located the list. Since then, she, Taylor and Izza had spent hours tracking the whereabouts of the gang of ten. The murder board now sported ten ugly faces, five of them marked through with a black X.
Taylor activated the slide presentation on the overhead screen and highlighted each crossed-out face while he explained. “We’ve narrowed the gang of ten down to five. Hank LaBouche, Alan Townsend and Teddy Whitaker are doing time for armed robbery in Florida. Ruben Ewing died last year of AIDS, and Rick Shuberg’s in a nursing home in Arizona with early-onset Alzheimer’s. That leaves us with these guys,” Taylor continued, hitting each remaining face with his laser pointer. “Clark Manson, Nate Stevenson, Rick Bukowski, Carlos Echevarria and Ron Fallon. They are definitely the ones we need to worry about.”
“What a bunch of losers,” Ember commented. “As Harley would say, these guys aren’t the brightest bulbs in the box. Which reminds me, any word from the Mortimers? Did they have their twins yet?”
“Yeah. Damn. Sorry,” Mark muttered. “The boys were born the day after we located Kelsey. Alexander Marcus and George Patrick. Mother and babies are doing fine. There was so much going on, Harley said he forgot to call, but he sounded good for a change.”
“We should throw him a baby shower,” Ember said.
“How much did they weigh? How long are they?” Mother asked sharply.
Mark grimaced. “Man, I don’t remember. I think maybe he said they were both around six pounds? Twenty-some inches.”
“Whoa, they’re good-sized for twins,” Izza said. “No wonder she got so big. Poor Judy.”
“And they’ll be tall like their daddy,” Ember said.
The feeling in the room brightened, but Mother’s expression darkened. She was another one Mark needed to talk with, and soon. She’d grown distant, and he didn’t know why. Even his request for her to check into exhumation procedures had gone unanswered—not that he minded. It was just odd for the woman who normally had her fingers in everyone’s business.
Taylor advanced to the next slide that listed the expertise of each of the final five, ranging from explosive ordnance disposal to spec ops. Each of the Vets was a trained killer with a criminal record. Ron Fallon looked to be the worst with two charges of attempted murder, but no time served. The others pandered to lesser crimes involving drugs and petty theft once they left the service. All had served in the Army or the Corps, not a good sign by any means.
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Mark said. “Are these guys still in the local area?”
“They all are,” Izza replied. “What’s worse, Fallon, Stevenson, and Bukowski are on the FBI’s watch list. They’re mixed up with some homegrown terrorist group called Chaos Now. It doesn’t recognize federal authority and the members believe states have the right to secede. According to their website, terror’s a necessary tool in what they call a righteous revolution against oppression.”
“What’s your next step?”
“Taylor and me are making contact with each of these guys today. Thought we’d talk with them face to face, let them know we’re watching them.” Izza looked ready for a fight. Most of the other agents had dressed casually today, but she wore the uniform of an active operator: black TEAM polo tucked neatly into cammie cargo pants. She also played with her knife while she worked the laser pointer, another sure sign she was ready to engage.
“We’re just looking for information, Izza,” Mark warned. “That’s all. Don’t scare them off before we know what they’re up to.”
“I know. You want to make sure it’s them. I got that.” She almost sounded sincere.
“No, I want a solid lead. I want motive, means, and opportunity before we blow them out of the water.”
“Yeah. Sure,” she said, but M
ark recognized the signs. Izza wasn’t making direct eye contact. She wanted revenge. Mark had no doubt these five guys would do.
The Sit Room door burst open and in walked two men in dirty coveralls. Rory pointed to the screen while Connor went to the computer and keyed in a few quick commands to access his files.
“This the list?” Rory asked.
“Yeah. We’ve whittled it down to five,” Mark answered. “What do you have?”
“Hope you don’t mind if we take over for a couple minutes, but you’ve got to see this. I’m hoping we can whittle your list down some more. Look at this.” Connor snagged the laser pointer from his wife with a wink. A security camera photo flickered on the overhead screen. He zoomed in as the shot came into focus. It showed two black Escalades on the highway where Kelsey had been forced off the road.
One man trudged into the water with a baseball bat. He swung hard.
“What’s that sonofabitch doing?” Izza growled.
“He’s trying to kill Kelsey,” Mark said. Gabe mentioned what Kelsey had said about some guy hitting her, but seeing it was something else.
“I ever meet him, he’s going to be wearing that bat up his ass,” Izza promised darkly.
Mark could barely swallow. The guy stomped out of the water and joined his three buddies on the shore. They lined up like a bunch of gangsters. Every last one of them raised their right arms and pointed at the river as if—
“They’re shooting!” Taylor jumped to his feet. Everyone bristled.
“At least they were. Calm down,” Rory stated. “Show ’em what else we found, Connor.”
Connor dropped a handful of mangled bullets on the table. “Inside the trunk and along the left rear quarter panel. That’s why we drove back out to the river first thing this morning. There’s a new credit union north of where Kelsey’s car was found. That’s who gave us this security footage. They’ve had a couple robberies because they’re out in the middle of nowhere, so they’d installed a high-tech digital system. We’re lucky they caught it on film. Heck, they weren’t even opened for business yet. It was too early in the day. All we need now is to find the guns these bullets were fired from, and we’ve got the bastards who tried to kill her.”
Gabe (In the Company of Snipers Book 8) Page 10