Shadow of Doubt (An SBG Novel Book 2)

by P. A. DePaul

  For an insane second, Romeo envisioned Magician in the same getup, strutting across the stage and gripping the brass pole bolted into the floor, her long black hair trailing behind her as she grasped the metal and swung her body around.

  “Raymond.”

  He ripped his gaze away from the show and blinked the vision away. Where the hell did that come from?

  Magician dipped her chin and squinted as if she could just imagine his line of thinking. Trust me, Mag, you’re not even close.

  “Have you learned anything from Mizz Hott?” Magician asked coolly, probably for the second time.

  He cleared his throat and exchanged a quick smile with the dancer still perched on his lap. “Yep. Her manager is an asshole who wouldn’t allow me to talk to her unless I was a paying client.” Why the hell had he just defended his position? This scenario had played out a million times between them before.

  “I see,” Magician replied.

  He patted the dancer’s exposed rump. “Guess our time’s up.”

  Jazmin stuck out her bottom lip and pouted.

  He held up a fifty. “Thanks for the info.”

  She slid it out of his fingers and slowly deposited it inside her bra. Once the money disappeared, she leaned forward and kissed him. He blinked, not expecting the action. This industry had a code similar to prostitution: Kissing was too personal and therefore generally not done. But he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to irritate Magician further, so he placed his hand on the back of Jazmin’s head and returned the kiss with ardor.

  After angling the dancer’s head just so, he slit his eyes to peer at Magician’s reaction.

  Whoa. What the fuck?

  His partner parted her lips and her smoky baby blue eyes filled with . . . Hell no that couldn’t be desire, could it? A jolt shot through him at the thought, instantly making him hard, which freaked him out even further.

  Jazmin moaned and ground her hips against his cock, no doubt thinking she was the reason for its sudden stiffness.

  Magician dropped the fingers she had placed against her bottom lip and pushed her shoulders back. The impersonal mask she liked to wear when she attempted to hide her emotions slid back into place.

  Did he just imagine that? Please, dear God tell him the club’s noxious smoke had been laced with a drug or something. He needed anything to explain his head trip over the last few minutes. He had hoped to get a rise out of her but, shit, he hadn’t expected to be, uh, the one who’d risen.

  He ended the kiss and smiled at Jazmin.

  The dancer’s eyes twinkled for real as she rose seductively. “Baby, come back to see me anytime,” she purred just loud enough for his partner to hear. She ran a finger from the top of his shoulder toward his stomach. “I mean that.”

  He pulled her hand away just as it reached his belt and kissed her fingertips. “I know you do, Jazmin-with-a-Z. Do me a favor and keep yourself safe, you hear?” He squeezed her hand and let it go.

  “Always,” she retorted over her shoulder, swishing her hips toward a small group of dancers huddled near the bar.

  Magician let out a disgusted sound. “Really? A stripper this time? Didn’t you get your fill with the woman from the pub a few nights ago?”

  “Hey, no need to be jealous. I offered to help hook you up with that guy who sat at the other end of the counter, but you refused.” He stood, smoothing his slacks, thankful his hard-on had disappeared.

  “That guy only had two teeth,” Magician shot back, “and was at least sixty years old.”

  Romeo laughed, remembering the farmer who had stared at his partner all night. “Hey, I can’t help it if your choice of bedmates is limited.” He couldn’t stop his taunting smile. “Bet he knew how to use those choppers to please you though.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  He shrugged and focused on why they came in. “I needed information and Jazmin was willing to talk to me.”

  “For a fifty. Bet if you threw in another ten, she’d have done more than grind on your lap and talk.”

  “Catty, Mag.” He skimmed the crowd, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. “She’s run into some tough times, doing the best she can. Besides, she informed me the cameras in the parking lot are just for show and haven’t been working for months.”

  Magician snatched his FBI windbreaker off the back of a neighboring chair and tossed it at him. “At least we won’t have to come up with a cover story for Cappy and Talon entering Michelle’s room and not coming out.”

  Chapter 16

  Michelle blinked as Talon swung the car onto a concrete driveway long enough for only one vehicle at the last house in the row.

  The sand-colored brick blended nicely with the ivory siding and maroon shutters. Hedges underneath the front windows had been trimmed with care and the trees beside it were just starting to display their fall leaves. A wrought-iron and wooden bench sat beneath a birch tree, inviting her to curl up on it and read. Overall, picturesque and perfect—if she wasn’t facing a murder charge.

  Talon slipped out of the car, pulling a small leather case out of his back jeans pocket, and strode up the front walkway. Jeremy opened her door and offered his meaty hand.

  Her resolution waffled. Had he already formed an opinion on her guilt or innocence? Bringing her here didn’t necessarily mean he was on her side. He had yet to tell her who he worked for or the reason he had access to an ongoing investigation’s information.

  And those nagging questions should outweigh the giddy, oh-my-God-he-thinks-I-look-really-good emotions, but sadly, her attraction and her suspicions were dead even.

  Then what’re my options? Take his hand and pray it wasn’t a trap or hop out of the other side and . . . what? Run? Crap. The way his body looked, he had no aversion to physical fitness. Cappy would catch her with no problem. He could even threaten to shoot her. Either way, he’d still have the mystery employer and she’d never be able to pry out of him why he helped her.

  Her brain hurt.

  She had to trust her instincts when they barraged her to call him, and trust his word that he wasn’t turning her in . . . at least not immediately.

  She grasped his hand and her fingers spasmed with the same electric storm as earlier. Sweet baby Jesus. Gripping him tighter, she tried not to drool as he helped her stand way too close to him. Goose bumps raced over her skin at the way his height and physique made her feel dainty—not something she’d ever felt before. A fall breeze sailed over him, pushing a lock of hair across her eye and carrying his exquisite scent. Oh God. He smelled so good. She swiped the strand away, glancing up, and jolted at how close his mouth was to hers. Mere inches. His eyes narrowed and focused on her lips. She couldn’t stop her tongue from wetting them.

  His intense coffee-tinted irises darkened.

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Awareness and tension crackled around her and even if a bomb went off she wouldn’t be able to turn away. He lifted a finger and ran the tip over a scar near her hairline she usually kept hidden with makeup. Trembling under the rough skin, she squeezed the hand still holding hers.

  A heavy frown pulled at his mouth and the heat that had been building in his eyes dimmed, morphing into . . . guilt? A cold shower couldn’t have doused the desire in her core faster than seeing his pity.

  Ripping her hand out of his, she maneuvered around him and stormed up the walk.

  She had no interest in becoming his next rescue project or being seen as a simpering damsel in distress. Yes, she had needed him in Colombia, and yes, she had called him today to help clear her name, but if they ever had sex it would be their overwhelming attraction driving the desire not pity and guilt.

  A quaint living room with beige carpet and white walls greeted her when she stomped through the doorway. Sturdy, utilitarian furniture in a swirly blue-and-tan pattern consisted of a three-cushion couch, a two-
cushion loveseat, and a high-backed chair. A fireplace with a marble slab at its base graced the side wall while a thirty-some-inch TV sat on a wooden stand against the short wall, opposite the front windows.

  The living room bled into the dining room with a four-person table and dark-brown pleather chairs pushed in at each end. She caught a glimpse of a pedestrian kitchen that shared the wall with the TV and gained its entrance from the dining room.

  Suddenly, every nerve stood at attention.

  Jeremy had entered behind her.

  Flustered at how her body had already tuned into his, she moved deeper into the room.

  Space was not going to be a luxury in this tiny house. The cramped tightness unsettled her further.

  Talon materialized out of the hallway shadows, hemming her in between the two men.

  Her heart rate kicked up and her palms broke out in sweat. They were too big in the limited area, towering over her. All the oxygen left the room and her head spun. Air. There was no air with them hogging all the space. She swayed. She had to get out of here. Black spots dotted her sight. The tight confines were too reminiscent of that small room—

  “Easy, Michelle,” a gruff voice crooned as if he spoke from the end of a tunnel. “Sit down.”

  Her vision dimmed and blurred as rough hands grabbed her biceps, ratcheting up her pulse. Free. She had to get free. Now! She flailed her arms, punching anything she could connect with. She would not let them tie her to the chair. Not again. She’d make them kill her first before she’d willingly succumb to their sick games.

  “Christ.” Grunt.

  She was done answering their same three questions. She had no clue what they were talking about and never answered the way they wanted. She struggled and kicked against the confining forces.

  “STOP! I’m not a spy!” she screamed, praying this time they’d listen.

  They didn’t. How many times did they have to beat her, throw her back into the room, only to drag her out again and start over . . . usually with a different set of devices before they believed her?

  “Goddammit. Ow.”

  Her vision failed completely. Terror gripped her as a vise tried to pin her arms back. Oh God, no. They held her like this earlier when Raul walked in. He was not going to live out his twisted fantasies again. She reached into her reserves and fought against her abductors, crazed to get away.

  Her fist connected with something that gave underneath her swing.

  “Fuck! If you don’t get her under control, I’m going to,” a male voice yelled. Had she heard that voice before?

  Muscled forearms clamped across her chest, crushing the air from her lungs as her feet lifted off the ground.

  “I’m not Raul,” another male voice said. This one had her heart weeping in relief. “I’m not Raul. Stop fighting me.” Her body swung to the side. “It’s Captain Jeremy Malone. Not Raul. I’m not going to hurt you. Are listening to me, Michelle? It’s Cappy.”

  Her brain froze.

  “That’s right. You gave me that nickname, didn’t you? Remember how you tried to smile when you said ‘Cappy for short’?”

  Cappy! He was here to rescue her. He wouldn’t let that sadistic bastard touch her anymore.

  She slumped in his arms.

  “Good girl,” he crooned. “We’re going to sit here on the couch and breathe slowly.” Her body shifted with his, her weight now resting on top of him. “In”—he took an audible deep breath—“and out.” He blew it out, the air tickling her ear.

  “Come on,” he prompted. “Do it with me.” He breathed in again and she found herself following his instructions. “Again. Deep breaths.”

  They sat there for who knew how long breathing, her heart calming bit by bit.

  She opened her eyes. A white, monotonous drywall ceiling slowly came in to focus, not dirt-riddled wooden slats. Thank you, Lord. Her sight was back. She plucked at her moist shirt, peeling it away from her body as she continued to breathe. Her gaze meandered to the kitchen entrance—

  She gasped. Holy Mary Mother of God.

  Talon leaned against the wall, holding a wad of paper towels against his face. Bright red blood filled the once white paper and dotted the front of his T-shirt.

  “Did I do that?” she whispered, not really sure who she was asking.

  “Yeah,” Cappy answered softly. “You kinda freaked out on us and started punching anything you could find.”

  Tears blurred her vision. She had gone three years without an episode. Three glorious years without anything triggering her mind to relive that horror, and in the past twenty-four hours she’d had way too many.

  “I’m so sorry.” She buried her head into Cappy’s large shoulder.

  Chapter 17

  Cappy could only murmur, “It’s okay,” over and over into the crown of her head. He shifted to relieve his crushed balls and sent up a small prayer for guidance.

  He hated feeling so helpless.

  He had seen good men, good soldiers, struggle with the horrors they faced in war. Whether the violence was by their own hands or what they watched their buddy go through didn’t seem to matter. They were crippled just the same. To witness this exquisite creature’s terror as she fought to stay out of Raul’s phantom hands left him feeling inadequate and guilty. He should have known about her capture sooner. Should have been able to save her from that hell.

  Images of her tortured body rose in his mind. Christ, what those men had done to her. Rage curled in his gut as he gently stroked her arm. He wished he could kill them all over again and not just for what they subjected her to, but for the men he had lost that day. Friends who didn’t deserve to have their lives cut short because he had lost focus and allowed his emotions to lead.

  Fewer tears soaked into his shirt and a soft snore filled his ears. He gently transferred her to the couch, replacing his arm with an ugly beige pillow.

  After crossing the room, he motioned for Talon to lift the paper towels. His teammate tipped his head back and removed the wad. Bruising across the bridge of his nose had already started blossoming spectacularly. “You’re going to have a hell of a shiner just in time to replace the one that just healed.” Cappy peered closer. “You need to get that looked at.”

  “I’ve had a broken nose before.” Talon pivoted and entered the kitchen. “This doesn’t feel like that. Any ice ready in the freezer?”

  Cappy opened the appliance’s door but it was empty. A stack of plastic trays sat neatly on top of the refrigerator, waiting to be filled. “Nope. Go see a doctor anyway just to be safe. Call me when you’re released. I’ll give you the list of supplies we need from the store.” Cappy stepped out of the kitchen and glanced toward the couch. Michelle still slept in the same position he’d placed her in. Good. He motioned for Talon to follow him through the dining room and out the sliding glass door.

  Once Talon crossed over the threshold, Cappy closed the door and angled his body so he could watch over Michelle.

  Talon flicked a glance down Cappy’s sight line and snorted, then winced at the action. “You better get your head out of your dick and wake up.”

  Cappy jerked at the attack and straightened to his full height. “Excuse me?”

  “That girl murdered Colin Harris and you’re in there stroking her like a damn puppy.”

  “We don’t know that for sure.” Even to his ears he sounded defensive. Shit.

  “Spoken like a guy wanting to get laid.”

  “Hey,” Cappy snapped. “I’m still your CO.”

  “Then act like a commanding officer,” Talon retorted, not getting the message to back down. “Find out what happened.”

  Cappy gripped his hips to keep from encircling Talon’s throat. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  Talon tried to snort again. “I don’t know, clearing the house so you can screw her.”

 
“Get real,” Cappy retorted. “She doesn’t really want me, just what I represent.”

  “She’s suffering from hero worship and you have a rescue complex when it comes to her. You’re both screwed up but that still doesn’t mean you can’t fuck her.”

  Cappy moved into Talon’s space and forced his clenched fists to stay at his sides. “Get out of my face and to the hospital before I break something for real. Capisce? Call me when you’re done. I’ll have a list for you by then.”

  “Check, sir.”

  Talon strode around Cappy, grazing his shoulder as he passed. It wasn’t a full-out challenge but a message. Cappy watched him disappear around the corner. If that man didn’t straighten up soon, he might just have to send a message of his own—one with no hint of subtlety.

  He gazed up at the blazing pink and orange clouds as the sun disappeared from the sky. The taste of what her therapy sessions must have been like as she battled the PTSD soured in his mouth. Shit.

  How could he have been so callous all these years and not even tried to find her, to check up on her even if it was from a distance? You know why, his mind answered, zeroing in on the instant connection he had felt the second he broke into that room. He wouldn’t’ve been able to keep himself on the perimeter. The temptation to touch her, talk to her, be with her would’ve been too much.

  SBG operatives were not allowed to have personal lives.

  Wraith was an exception, which only happened after Victor had been taken into custody. Christ, the rule they had been taught on day one of training drove home the point they were no longer a part of the normal world. “Never reveal your real name, where you’re from, or anything more significant in your background than what I ask for in the next few minutes,” the instructor had barked the moment he walked into the room where Cappy and the rest of those who would make up Delta Squad waited. “In case you geniuses haven’t figured it out, that’s what clean slate means. When you leave here, you’ll have a new name. You’ll answer only to that. Period. I don’t give a shit what brought you to this facility, I only care about what you do while you’re here and in the future. If any of you ever defies this rule”—the drill-sergeant-esque man slapped his hands on his hips and captured all of their eyes— “well, let’s just say you should never want to find out.”