“I’m going to check out the house.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and fled.
BO WASN’T SURE exactly what had transpired between them a moment ago, but he didn’t stop her. He tried not to think about her as he treated the wound on the gelding’s shoulder. But his mind refused to cooperate. As much as he didn’t want to acknowledge it, he was attracted to Rachael Armitage. He was attracted to her the way he’d never been attracted to another woman.
How would she react if she knew he was responsible for her husband’s death?
“She’s going to hate you, buddy,” he growled.
Both horses raised their heads and looked at him. Bo smiled. “Who asked you guys anyway?”
He spent the next ten minutes tossing grain and pumping water from the old well. When the horses were bedded down—and he ran out of things to do—he headed for the house.
He found Rachael standing at the kitchen window, staring out at the vast country beyond. She turned and looked at him when he entered.
“How’s the gelding?” she asked.
“He’s going to be fine.”
There was a tension in the air that hadn’t been there before. A tension Bo didn’t want to acknowl edge. He sure as hell didn’t want to acknowledge its source.
“I wonder how many times your great-great-grandmother stood at this window and looked out across the land?”
The question surprised him. He didn’t see Rachael as the kind of woman who got sentimental about stuff like that. Then again she kept surprising him. And he knew she was a woman with a lot of layers, all of them protected by a tough outer shell. “A lot, I imagine,” he said.
“What made you decide to buy the ranch back?”
I couldn’t handle my job after I shot and killed Mike.
The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, as deadly as any bullet. But looking into her eyes, he couldn’t say the words. He knew that made him a coward. But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he wasn’t sure he could handle this woman hating him.
“I needed something to do when I left the agency.” Dropping his gaze, he shrugged. “The ranch was for sale.”
She contemplated him as if trying to see all the things he held inside. Within the depths of her eyes, he saw questions. Questions he had no desire to answer.
Before she could ask them, he motioned toward the bloodstain on her thigh. “I need to take a look at that wound.”
She glanced down as if she’d forgotten about it and stared at the bloodstain. He thought she would argue, but she didn’t.
“You’re going to have to take off your pants,” he added.
“I was trying to think of a way around that.”
He went to the saddlebag and removed a small camping blanket and handed it to her. “Wrap yourself in this. I’ll get the stove set up and heat some water. We packed the first-aid kit.”
Taking the blanket, she disappeared down the narrow hall. Bo busied himself unpacking the small camping stove. It wouldn’t cast much light or warmth, but it would have to suffice since they couldn’t build a fire. He was in the process of opening the first-aid kit when Rachael appeared in the doorway. She had the blanket wrapped around her hips.
Bo’s eyes ran the length of her. Even dusty and disheveled she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Like he needed to be thinking of that at this moment.
“Have a seat,” he said, patting the rickety kitchen table.
Gripping the blanket with a white knuckled hand, Rachael complied. “I tried to get a look at the wound, but there was a lot of dried blood.”
“I’ll get it cleaned up for you.” Picking up a gauze pad, he turned to her. She was sitting on the table, her eyes level with his. For an instant he couldn’t speak. All he could do was look into her bottomless green eyes and hope he didn’t fall right into them.
After a moment, he gave himself a hard mental shake and looked down in the general direction of the wound. “Just part the blanket a little bit so I can take a look.”
Carefully, she spread the blanket. Bo tried not to notice the silky white thigh that came into view. Then he spotted the wound and his focus came rushing back. It was a clean cut about two inches long with a good bit of bruising and swelling.
“You got hit pretty hard,” he said.
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“Probably a piece of metal. You could use a few stitches.”
“I don’t think I want you sticking a needle in me.”
Dabbing the wound with an antiseptic gauze, he smiled. “Since I’m fresh out of needles, a butterfly bandage will have to suffice.” He raised his gaze to hers. “You’ll need a tetanus shot when we get back.”
She nodded.
He cleaned the wound as thoroughly as he could. Most of the MIDNIGHT agents were EMTs, but Bo was having a difficult time keeping his focus on the wound. Every time he touched her all he could think of was silky flesh and firm muscles and one of the prettiest legs he’d ever seen.
What little concentration he had evaporated when she spoke. “You haven’t talked about what happened that night.”
The statement hovered unacknowledged for several interminable moments. Bo’s mind spun through all the lies he’d conjured, but he couldn’t speak the words. He couldn’t lie. But he couldn’t tell her the truth, either.
He looked into her eyes, and the words nearly tumbled out. But he held his tongue. All the while her gaze searched his for answers. Answers she would not like. Answers that would make this woman hate him, the way he’d hated himself for the last two years.
“It was a tough scene,” he said in a rough voice.
“I’ve been there,” she said gently. “I can handle it.”
All he could think was that she couldn’t. He sure as hell hadn’t handled it very well. He wasn’t sure any human being with a conscience could ever handle something like that.
A chirping sound reached him through the fog of his thoughts. After a moment, he realized it was his cell phone. Stepping away from her, he dug into his coat pocket. “You’re good to go,” he said.
She pulled the blanket over her leg. “Thank you.”
Turning away from her, he answered with a growl of his name.
“Ruskin. This is Mike Madrid.”
Something in the other man’s voice gave him pause. Bo had a sixth sense when it came to knowing when something was wrong. And he knew Mike Madrid was going to hit him with something he wasn’t prepared to hear. “What is it?”
“MIDNIGHT Headquarters was just bombed,” Madrid said.
Chapter Eight
The meaning of the words registered slowly in a brain that didn’t want to believe. Disbelief and a deep sense of violation rose inside Bo. The MIDNIGHT Agency was a top-secret organization. Very few people knew of its existence, even fewer knew where the agency headquarters was located. How the hell could something so catastrophic happen?
“Casualties?” he heard himself ask.
“Going to be heavy.”
Bo knew it was bad when cool-headed Mike Madrid sounded shaken. “What about damage?”
“The blast was powerful, took everyone by surprise. Most of the second floor is gone. Dozens of people are missing. A dozen more are hurt badly.”
“Cutter?”
“Missing.”
Bo cursed. “Missing in the rubble or missing as in someone took him?”
“All we know at this point is that there’s no sign of him anywhere.”
“He was in the office?”
“He’d logged in.” Madrid sighed. “Look, we’ve got a lot of chaos right now. Phone system is down. Cops and feds and Homeland Security are on the scene. Acting director initiated a Code ninety-nine.”
The initiation of a Code ninety-nine indicated an emergency situation, alerting and activating all MIDNIGHT agents. Bo wasn’t an agent. But he knew in his gut this involved him. He knew it involved Rachael Armitage. Just as he knew Sean Cutter had probably been the targe
t….
“I’ll lay odds that Viktor Karas will take responsibility for the bombing.” The words elicited a slow rise of fury.
Madrid was silent. Bo could hear chaos in the background now, sirens and shouting and a male voice barking out orders. “This is his style. Hit hard and fast and unexpectedly. Take what he wants then get the hell out.”
“The collateral damage is a bonus.”
Bo had turned away from Rachael, but she was circling him, watching him. She knew something was wrong and wanted to know what it was.
“Cutter was supposed to send a chopper out here once the fleet was inspected,” he said.
“Not going to happen, Bo. Whoever did this hit the hangar, too. Half the aircraft are gone. The other half will need to be inspected for explosives. We lost at least one pilot. Another is still unaccounted for.”
“Karas knows where we are,” Bo said.
“Then I suggest you get the hell out of there.”
The suggestion made him feel like a coward. Two years ago Bo would have made a stand. He would have told Madrid they’d be waiting for Karas when he showed. It shamed him that his own fears kept him from doing what he knew needed to be done. “I’m going to get off the line, Madrid. I don’t want anyone picking up this signal off the cell tower.”
“Sure.”
“Keep me posted on Cutter, will you?”
“Roger that.”
Bo snapped the phone closed.
“What the hell is going on?”
Bo looked at Rachael. Her eyes were wide and questioning. She looked pumped up and ready to pounce on him. He wondered how she would react to learning Cutter was missing. But deep inside he knew. She was going to want to go after Karas.
“MIDNIGHT headquarters was bombed,” he said.
She stiffened as if steeling herself against a blow. But he didn’t miss the physical ripple that went through her body or the flash of rage in her eyes.
“How could that happen?” she asked. “HQ is one of the most secure places on earth.”
“Karas is connected. He’s a brutal son of a bitch. He’s capable of anything to get what he wants. In cluding torturing some cleaning or administrative person to get information.”
“My God.” Setting her fingers against her temples, she rubbed. “Tell me everything you know.”
“Cutter is missing.”
“Missing or kidnapped?”
He shrugged, knowing at this point they had to consider worst-case scenario.
Spinning away from him, she slapped her palm down on the old table, bringing a rise of dust. “Sick bastard.”
“Madrid said he’d call as soon as they find Cutter.”
“But you don’t think they will.”
He said nothing. The silence that followed spoke more loudly than a thousand words.
She closed her eyes briefly. “You know what Karas is capable of.”
“Cutter was probably the primary target.”
“My God, Bo, they’ll torture him.”
He didn’t respond. The prospect of Sean Cutter at Viktor Karas’s mercy was not a pleasant thought. Cutter might be one of the strongest men Bo had ever met, but no one was above Karas’s unparalleled brutality.
“We can’t let Karas kill Cutter. We can’t let him get away with this.”
Setting her hand on her pistol, she began to pace. Bo watched her traverse the small kitchen. She’d gone into warrior mode. Her mouth was tight. Her expression set and furious. He could feel the rage building inside her like a storm. It was as if at that moment she didn’t even realize he was in the room.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he said.
She stopped and turned to him, her eyes blazing. “The hell we can’t.”
“You’re his number-one target, Rachael. He wants you to take the bait. I’m not going to let you play right into his hands.”
“I’m not going to sit around and let them torture a good man to death. Karas wants me. I say we give him what he wants.”
“Now you’re talking crazy.”
“Don’t treat me like I’m some stupid rookie,” she snapped.
“Then stop acting like one.”
Another layer of fury entered her eyes. “I’m tired of running from him, Bo. Now he has Cutter. We can’t let this stand.”
“If you get reckless, he’s going to win this thing.”
“I’m a trained agent, damn it. I know what I’m doing. I’m not going to sit on my duff while this bastard takes out more people I care about.”
“Yeah, well, here’s a newsflash for you, tough guy. You’re not in charge. I am. And I’m not going to let you do something stupid.”
She took a step toward him. “What’s your brilliant plan?”
“We wait this thing out.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” she said sarcastically.
“It’s a hell of a lot smarter than all that fire I see in your eyes.”
“What you see in my eyes is something you don’t see when you look in the mirror.”
The barb cut. Bo tried not to react; he’d sworn he wouldn’t let her get to him. But his temper unfurled. “If you’ve got something on your mind maybe you ought to just say it.”
“You’re scared of Karas. I don’t know what got into you back there, but you acted as if your rifle was on fire. You didn’t pick it up when you could have—”
“Enough!” he roared.
His voice seemed to rattle what little glass remained in the windows. For several seconds, they stood there, breathing hard, staring at each other like two contenders facing off in a boxing ring.
“I’ve been shot at,” he said. “I’ve had my house blown up. I was forced to kill two men back there.”
“It’s part of the job,” she pointed out.
“I’m no longer an agent.”
Her eyed burned into his. “Once an agent, always an agent.”
Realizing they were edging onto a topic that was best left alone, Bo sighed, reined in emotions he never should have let himself feel. “Look,” he began in a more reasonable voice, “you have one pistol. Limited ammo. No backup. I have a pistol and a rifle and a single grenade left. We’re several hundred miles from the nearest MIDNIGHT agent. We don’t know if we can trust local law enforcement. And you want to take on Viktor Karas?”
She got in his face. “So you’re suggesting we sit here and wait for Karas and his goons to storm the place in the middle of the night?”
“I’m suggesting we don’t confront the most powerful criminal in the world with a couple of pea-shooters and your badge of honor! That’s crazy!”
“Crazy is better than being a coward.”
The words struck a direct hit and Bo felt it all the way to his core. He stared at her, his heart pounding. In some small part of his mind, he wondered how she would react if he told her he was the one who’d shot and killed her husband. If taking the life of his friend was reason enough for him to have walked away from the agency.
“I’m going to bed down the horses for the night.”
She said something to him as he headed toward the door, but Bo couldn’t make out the words over the hard hammering of his heart. The rush of blood through his veins. He was angry. Furious, in fact.
Worse, he was ashamed because she was right.
RACHAEL HADN’T MEANT to say it. As far as she was concerned, calling someone a coward was one of the worse things you could say. She could tell by the way he’d flinched that she’d struck a nerve. Bo Ruskin might be cautious, but he didn’t have a cowardly bone in his body. Not even close. The truth of the matter was, she owed him an apology.
“Damn,” she muttered, walking to the window and leaning against it.
It wasn’t the first time her temper had gotten the best of her, and she’d said something in the heat of an argument she was sorry for later. Still, she didn’t understand his willingness to walk away from Karas.
He’d accused her of being a hothead. That had struck a nerv
e, too. It was the reason Cutter had put her on mandatory leave and forced her into protective custody. But Rachael recognized the fact that after Michael’s death, she had become more of a risk-taker. She’d become more spontaneous in the way she operated. She’d schooled herself not to analyze her actions too closely. Had she taken it too far?
Six months after Michael’s death, the agency shrink had deemed her ready for work. Deep inside, Rachael had known she wasn’t. She’d told the shrink what he’d wanted to hear, but within her a dark need for revenge seethed.
Michael had been working undercover inside Viktor Karas’s organization. He and Bo had set up a brilliant sting. But the sting had gone wrong, and Michael had ended up dead. At that point, all of Rachael’s priorities had shifted; she’d focused all of her attention on bringing down the son of a bitch who’d murdered her husband and stolen her future. She’d developed tunnel vision on Karas without so much as a thought to her own safety. In the last two years, she’d had some close calls, taken some risks she shouldn’t have. Her colleagues began to notice. In the end, Sean Cutter busted her.
And now here she was, holed up in this old homestead in the middle of nowhere with a man who would just as soon let Karas slink back into his hidey-hole with the rest of the vermin. Not Rachael. She wanted Viktor Karas’s head on a platter for what he’d done.
It didn’t elude her that Bo Ruskin had been there the night Michael died in that bloody shootout. It was the last operation of Ruskin’s career. She knew in a way that only a kindred spirit could know that what went down in that warehouse was the reason Bo had walked away.
She stood in the kitchen, pondering that, and watched the dust motes swirl in the fading light coming in through the window. Bo had been in the barn now for twenty minutes. Damn him for being so cautious, so reasonable. She needed to apologize for calling him a coward.
She busied herself unpacking her saddlebag and setting the contents on the kitchen table. She’d just set out her spare weapon when Bo appeared at the door.
Rachael took in the tall length of him. The snug jeans, leather jacket and black hat that shadowed his eyes. She wanted to attribute the flutter in her stomach to the discomfort of her impending apology; it was so much easier than facing up to its real source. But her attraction to Bo Ruskin was the one thing she did not want to acknowledge.
Operation: Midnight Tango Page 9