Nate signaled that he was going straight ahead toward the upended table, that she should move right, and Stone should move right, keeping Stone in the least amount of danger, which, she knew, would piss him off.
She nodded her understanding, ejected her empty clip, slammed a new one into place, and then headed toward the laundry room.
She confirmed the broken window. A second glance at the area showed a glint of metal near the gas water heater.
Oh, shit.
She memorized the placement of the person, the heater, the washer, the dryer, the nylon clothesline, pulled back, flattened against the wall, holding her fire.
The assailant wasn’t as considerate.
He unloaded an entire clip in her direction.
Stone hurried over.
Gunfire exploded from the middle of the room. Nate.
Stone raised his gun.
“Gas water heater!” she shouted at him in the quiet between the exchange of fire.
“Fuck!”
“I have to take him.”
He nodded.
“Wolf Stone,” he called out. “Come and get me. Million bucks if you get me first.”
“Idiot,” she shouted.
Stone moved into the doorway.
The shadowy figure moved to the right, and she saw him reach for a battery-powered spotlight. The light would blind them.
She yanked off her night vision goggles.
Stone lunged left, trying to get behind the wall, so they both had access to the doorway.
Bullets ripped through the air.
She moved into the doorway and shot deliberately to avoid the gas line.
She heard a scream, but the bullets kept coming.
When silence fell, she dropped her clip out and slid the third home.
Stone moved through the doorway, she followed. He lunged for the downed man; she used a pocketknife to slice the nylon laundry cord.
Stone flipped the man over and yanked his arms behind his back.
She bound his arms and his legs tight with the cord.
He flailed, and she put the barrel of her pistol in his ear. “How many more of you?”
“No understand.” The man was whispering, choking, gasping.
“He understood a million dollars,” she said to Wolf. “One more chance,” she told the intruder. She pulled back the gun and knocked him across the head with it.
“Dos.” He gasped. “Two!”
”I’m going after Nate,” she said.
“I’ll be outside.” He crossed to the broken window and grabbed a towel to clear away the broken glass.
Nate was struggling, hand-to-hand with a second man. Too close for firepower, she lashed out, kicking the man in the side of the head.
He dropped.
“Jesus,” Nate said. “That wasn’t yoga.”
“Ohm,” she replied. “Could be one more.”
“Watch him.”
Several minutes later, Nate and Wolf returned. The perimeter guard had been found dead, his jugular sliced.
But there was no other intruder.
When the good guys arrived, the two wannabe assassins were trussed and tucked. Nate’s knuckles were bleeding, her ears rang from the gunfire, and Wolf was scowling.
Hawkeye was smart; they’d called the Feds, as well as the local police. That made things a lot smoother. Or, if not, it kept the jurisdictional pissing match between agencies rather than focused on them.
Within two hours, power had been restored, the thugs had been carted away, the tech guys had finished their picture taking and analysis, Hawkeye had half a dozen people stationed around the perimeter and their top person still inside with them.
“There’s one more out there,” Kayla said.
“We’re on it,” Ms. Inamorata promised.
She wished she could believe it.
“By the way, Stone,” Ms. Inamorata said, “you should put a piece of steak on your jaw. It’ll help the bruising.”
If Ms. Inamorata had a first name, Kayla had never heard it. She was a highly respected agent, Hawkeye’s best resource for cleaning up messes. She seemed to show up whenever she was needed, wherever she was needed, then seemed to vanish. If she weren’t so damn competent and pleasant, and if she hadn’t been the one to insist Kayla be hired despite her lack of experience, Kayla could easily hate Ms. Inamorata. Tall, willowy, never a single one of her unbleached blonde hairs out of place, mascara never smudged, and often kicking ass in heels and a skirt.
“Thanks for that,” Stone said. Then he added, “Nancy?”
She shook her head. “Nancy Inamorata? That’s not half bad. Better than the last one you tried. But you’re still only half right.”
“Shirley?”
“No again. And you only get one try per meeting,” she told him. “Stay alive, will you?”
Then she was gone, leaving silence once the echo of her heels faded away.
Kayla sank down onto a kitchen chair and wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly cold from the postexcitement letdown.
“I mean it,” Stone said. “Great job, Fagan.”
She didn’t want it to, but his opinion of her performance mattered.
“Davidson is right to want to serve on the same team as you.”
But what about him? Did Stone want to be on her team? Want her on his team?
He pulled out a chair and sat across the table from her. He leaned in closer, crowding her space.
“I, on the other hand, was scared shitless,” Nate said, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back against the countertop.
“Liar,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve never seen you afraid of anything.” She pushed back away from the table. “Coffee?”
“Now I’m scared, too.” Stone said.
“Hey, wait! I’ll do the coffee-scooping part,” Nate said.
“Screw you both,” she said. She crossed the kitchen, grabbed the carafe, and filled it with water.
He’d changed into blue jeans and a T-shirt, thoughtfully provided by Hawkeye. He’d left his feet bare, though, and for some odd reason, she found the sight erotic, like it was an invitation to get him out of the rest of his clothes.
“Are you two ganging up on me?”
“Got any more of that nylon cord left, Davidson?” Stone said. “Anything to keep Fagan away from the coffee.”
For a minute, just a brief glimpse of time, things were as they had been before Stone and Nate’s argument the previous day. They were laughing, teasing, enjoying. Loss snaked through her, and she swallowed a lump in her throat.
Nate grabbed a filter and stuffed it into the basket, then spooned in scoop after scoop.
“Are you trying to put some hair on Stone’s chest?” she asked.
“Oh, hell no,” Nate said.
She agreed with that. Stone was pretty well as close to perfect as he was. “We work well as a team,” she said.
“Yeah,” Nate said. “We do.”
She noticed the pointed look he shot in Stone’s direction.
They did make a good team, and if Stone weren’t so damn stubborn, so damn set on doing things alone and keeping others at arm’s length, he’d admit it, too.
She didn’t blame Nate for yesterday’s argument with Stone. If she were a guy, she’d be tempted to punch the maddening, stoic Stone, as well.
Nate turned the coffeemaker on, filling the room with the hiss and splash of the aromatic brew.
In only a few hours, they’d transfer from the house to the vehicles. And after the testimony and Stone’s safe return to Cold Creek Ranch, their mission would be over.
Maybe she and Nate would take that vacation they’d talked about last night. But there would be something -- someone -- missing.
That was even more powerfully illustrated now, after the break-in. She wasn’t normally one for a lot of emotion. She did her job, kept her objectivity. But now… “If anything had happened to either one of you…”
Stone met her gaze. She saw something there
, raw and uncontrolled. He might never verbally admit how much he loved Nate, how much he cared for her, but it was there in the depths of his blue eyes.
Anger and frustration bubbled up in her. If he simply didn’t give a damn, it would be one thing. But to know it was there, deep inside, kept harnessed, made her ache. “I’m going to hit the shower,” she said. Which would leave the two men alone. And maybe, just maybe, this tension would be gone when she returned. She couldn’t help herself. She stopped and placed a kiss on Stone’s forehead.
He grabbed her wrist to prevent her from walking away.
She blinked. He pulled her toward him and kissed her hard and deep. She tasted the hunger he tried to keep under control.
Oh, yes. He cared. But how to break through that layer of reserve?
As he ended the kiss, she placed her hand alongside his jaw. With a final kiss on his forehead, she pulled the wrist he’d been holding and walked away.
She half expected one or both of them to join her, and she was disappointed when they didn’t. How was she supposed to wash her back? It hadn’t taken her long to get spoiled. She liked being spoiled, she decided.
After she finished drying her hair, putting on her makeup, and dressing, she returned to the kitchen to find it empty.
She drank the last cup of coffee that they’d thoughtfully left in the carafe, then slathered a bagel with a thick dollop of cream cheese. When Stone walked into the kitchen, she nearly dropped her cup.
Chapter Eleven
“Damn,” she said. He looked hot as sin in jeans or shorts, even better naked. But this… A tailored suit fit his wide shoulders and followed the contours of his trim waist and hips. The dark charcoal color complemented his skin tone, making his blue eyes all the more electric. The crisp white shirt with the conservative red tie at his throat added a splash of color, and made him look like a gift she wanted to unwrap.
His hair was sexily cinched at his nape.
She decided then and there that he really didn’t look like a gift. He looked more like a pirate. A slightly tamer version on the exterior, but totally untamed on the inside. Arrgh. “I suppose we don’t have time for me to rip your clothes off you and have wild, monkey sex on the floor?”
“I guess the suit still fits,” he said, adjusting the knot at his throat.
“Or you fit it. One or the other.” She forgot all about their tension and moved toward him. How long could wild, monkey sex take, anyway?
“Fagan, about last night…”
She waited.
“I apologized to Davidson.”
Kayla blinked.
“I told him to stick it.”
Nate walked into the kitchen, and the contrast between the men made her knees weak.
Nate’s blond hair was a bit spiky, held in place with some gel. It wasn’t a look that she usually went for, but on him, it was just plain hot. He wore a T-shirt and a windbreaker, probably to cover the gun tucked into his waistband. Black boots, tight jeans, a leather belt, and dark sunglasses perched on top of his head made her hormones slam into overdrive.
To think, she’d been naked and tied up while they both had their wicked way with her.
“If we happen to have another chance to work together, Stone can fuck me into the next day. Tie me up, use me and abuse me --”
“David-son,” Stone warned, the word broken into a two-syllable growl.
“I’ll be a proper submissive, but when it’s over, it’s over.”
“So that means…”
“We’re not invited back to Cold Creek Ranch,” Nate said.
“Don’t you fucking dare twist my words,” Stone snapped.
“What he said was we’re welcome to come back and stay as long as we’d like. When I asked if we should give up our own places, he did his usual silent response. So we can use Cold Creek like a hotel, but not an apartment. Get the distinction?”
She sighed. It was either that or bang their heads together. “It will be lonely without us,” she told Stone.
“You’re more than welcome at my home any time you want to come, and you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.’
“But leave your plants in Chicago,” Nate added.
Her cell phone rang. “Showtime,” she said when she ended the call.
Personal issues were shoved aside as they all switched into professional mode. And she couldn’t forget the one assassin who’d gotten away.
A hulking SUV backed up the driveway, and Nate pushed a button to activate and open the garage door.
The driver backed into the garage.
Nate went first, opening a door. Kayla slid into the vehicle, across the seat to the far side. Stone followed, then Nate shoved in. The SUV was moving before the back door was even closed.
There was a secure parking garage beneath the building. The judge had agreed that the risk to Stone’s life was real, and that keeping him off Denver’s streets was in the case’s best interests.
Security was tight at the building, and the press was thick, including a local radio talk show host who’d brought the case against Carlos Rivera to national attention and who’d done several fundraisers for Mandy Garcia, the kindergartner and only survivor when Rivera killed her federal agent father.
Kayla left her gun with Nate. During their planning, they’d decided he’d stay with the vehicle, and she’d accompany Stone to court.
They were met by armed guards and escorted to an elevator.
“Nervous?” she asked Stone. She was. There was still a thug out there.
“Pissed,” he said.
Their arrival caused a commotion the judge was forced to gavel down.
Carlos Rivera looked over his shoulder and grinned, as if greeting a long lost friend.
Kayla hadn’t been prepared for the sight of Rivera. In her mind, he was cold, calculating. In reality, he was a stunningly handsome man with a quick smile and long, thick lashes that made his brown eyes look inviting. His body was lithe, as if he were a runner. His suit was expensive, but not over the top, respectful.
He had the presence of a movie star and had surrounded himself with both a nonthreatening male attorney and a beautiful, buxom blonde lawyer. The man was a brilliant strategist, she had to give him that. If the jury saw what she did, convicting him would be no easy matter. The prosecutors had an uphill battle.
“He’s a snake,” Stone said.
* * * * *
Nate hated waiting.
He wanted to be inside the building, wanted the opportunity to meet Rivera in a dark alley.
He sucked at surveillance, preferring to be in the thick of the action.
He paced. He checked his phone. He checked his watch.
Another thirty seconds had crawled by.
He wanted Stone out of the building, wanted him safe and secure.
He took the stairs to street level, into the blazing Rocky Mountain sun. A hotdog cart vendor wheeled into place near a street corner, and escapees from nearby office buildings headed into restaurants and shops.
He walked around the small plaza. Kayla would give him a heads-up before Stone was excused, giving Nate plenty of time to get back into position.
A few employees were outside smoking. They were well away from the building’s entrance, and it was the last place in Denver left for that habit. A couple of people from the press hung around, waiting for something to report on their noon news update. Just another normal day outside the courthouse.
He kept his gaze on the entrance, watching the comings and goings.
Nate purchased a soda from the hotdog cart vendor. It’d been a short night, and residual adrenaline hung in his system like a weight. He needed to stay sharp.
A guy who’d been sitting on a bench stood, smoothed out his slacks, and adjusted his sunglasses. He then picked up a briefcase Nate hadn’t recalled seeing earlier. He moved it from his right hand to his left.
Then Nate realized a woman had been sitting next to the man a few minutes ago.
Fuck.
Nate dropped his can in a planter.
He signaled one of Hawkeye’s representatives.
At a flat-out run, he went after the guy.
Right in front of the entrance, he threw himself forward, slamming them both into the concrete pavement.
Someone snapped a camera.
A film crew went into action.
“Bastard!”
“This is going to hurt you more than it does me.” He grabbed the man’s head and slammed it into the ground.
The Hawkeye operative grabbed the briefcase, and in the chaos, walked off to give the leather case to a cop.
The crew from the Denver’s leading news show went live.
Nate stood.
Security came over and snapped handcuffs on both of them.
* * * * *
Raw energy clawed at Stone.
He couldn’t vanquish the thoughts of Mandy Garcia crying over her father’s battered body. He couldn’t wish away images of Rivera’s thugs pointing a gun at Fagan.
He wanted revenge.
He and Fagan were seated in the last row. He recognized a handful of people in the room, all Hawkeye representatives, some with hastily arranged press credentials.
He took out his notebook, a journal of sorts, that he kept of events. He focused only on his notebook, seemingly blocking out everyone and everything. And when he was called to the stand, he tucked his notes back into the interior pocket of his suit coat and walked down the aisle slowly, assessing, planning.
Instead of continuing to the witness stand, he stopped at Rivera’s table. Five seconds, five seconds…that’s all he needed to make Rivera snap.
The bailiff fingered his gun and took several steps toward them.
Stone placed his hands on the table and leaned toward Rivera. “Donkeys.”
Rivera blinked.
Stone was aware of noise building in the room.
“You can’t satisfy a woman, so you fuck donkeys instead.” Keeping the man’s gaze prisoner, he adjusted Rivera’s tie. Then he yanked on it.
Rivera shoved his chair back and slugged Stone.
Stone grinned, big, primal. “Donkeys.”
“Two million dollars,” Rivera yelled out, “for anyone who kills this bastard.”
“I’ll see you in hell,” Stone said.
Rivera’s attorneys wrestled him to his seat, and the bailiff subdued Stone.
Sierra Cartwright - Hawkeye 01 - Danger Zone Page 12