Colorado Wild - Colorado Heart 1

by Sara York

  "Did you sleep?"

  Grant nodded as he walked around the room. He stopped by the bed, turning his head slightly so he could get a good look at the man from the side. Roger was beautiful, that much was certain. His dark brown eyes haunted Grant's dreams, as did his beautiful lips that had a slight tilt to them even when he wasn't smiling. There wasn't a cleft to his chin but the little dimple gave the illusion that there could have been a cleft, but it just hadn't been molded properly.

  "I don't really have a vested interest in this one way or the other. I've studied—"

  Grant couldn’t hold still once Roger started to speak and he rushed forward, pinning Roger against the wall, cutting him off. "Don't you?"

  "What? I—there's nothing—of course not."

  "Are you trying to say that morning you woke in my bed meant nothing to you?"

  Raw emotions flashed in Roger's eyes and Grant loathed himself for doing this. He loathed the pride and vanity inside of himself that needed to know if Roger desired him. As soon as the emotions came, they were gone, hidden behind a wall of indifference.

  Grant pushed away, stepping into the bathroom. "I apologize. I had no right. I'll be in the control room in ten minutes. You can show me your findings then."

  The door opened and closed, Roger slipping out silently. They may not have had a chance before, but now there was no chance in the world they would ever get together.

  "Fuck!" Grant needed some time at the gym to work off his aggression. Craig had lied to him so many times and he'd taken it, giving in without questioning. He should have known better but he hadn't. The fucker had screwed him over, allowing Grant to believe their fake relationship was real.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The flat green plains around Grantham, England were beautiful, allowing James to see for miles. He hated it. If he could see this far, then everyone could see him. He was glad they hadn't gone for the sniper angle. He wanted trees or a mountain, something to block the view. Even buildings would work for cover, but the gentle landscape did nothing for him.

  After the call from Grant, he and Marshal had ordered room service for three. The hotel knew three people were staying in the room and they didn't want questions. Craig would expect them to change hotels and move to a place on the other side of town, he'd probably call for new check-ins. They would have called Duff if they were following protocol, but they didn't. They had no idea what Craig had planned but they weren't going to be predictable.

  That's why this group wasn't associated with the government. They'd discussed it one night and he'd learned that being CIA meant giving up a lot of freedoms they enjoyed. If they didn't want a job, they said no. There were plenty they turned down. They also took jobs from other nations, picking and choosing whom to work for. Heck, on Grant's last solo mission, he hadn't taken out the guy. They might go for Wylands at a later date, but they didn't kill just because someone wanted them to, they needed proof, more than just a request to end a life.

  McKay had given them plenty of reasons and then proof. It was why he'd slept with John, a local cable guy at Sky. John wouldn’t miss his clothes for a while longer. The badge might be a bit of an issue since the man probably needed it for work. By the time the man figured out who had taken it, James would be long gone.

  John had been rather energetic. It had taken a blowjob, a rough fuck, and then a bit of frotting to get the guy to doze off. He should have found a dealer to pick up some ecstasy. At the time, he'd been up for a bit of play and didn't want to risk getting involved in a bad drug deal. They didn't have time to fart around with Grant gone so he'd opted for having enough sex to get the guy to pass out then he stole the shirt, pants, shoes, and cap.

  One day soon, he wanted to sleep after sex. It seemed like lately all he did was get up and run after a rousing romp. In Colorado, he didn't want any of the guys thinking they had a chance at him. On missions, sex was about the mission, not for fun.

  "You doing okay?" Marshal asked.

  "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "You know, we could have found another way to get the uniform."

  He waved his hand and turned away. "It's fine. I didn't mind."

  Marshal was silent for a long while, his hands planted on his hips. James didn't want the aggravation of a full-blown discussion so he switched gears, forcing thoughts of sex from his mind. They'd eventually talk about it, he could tell by the angle of Marshal's jaw and the way he worked his mouth.

  "At least I got this great shirt out of the deal," James joked. The blue pants and polo with the Sky logo on the front weren't a perfect fit, but it would do. The black tennis shoes that he'd pilfered from the guy fit perfectly. Sadly, the adage that huge feet meant a huge cock had not been true for John.

  "We aren't done with this subject." Marshal turned from him and made his way to the back of the van. After two minutes he returned with a box. "You need to hit him with this quickly. Two shots. Blue first. That will trigger a massive sugar spike and he'll need insulin. The second, the red one, will cause him to crash hard. Basically, we're going to send him into shock. The second drug will cause the heart attack. Both will look natural unless someone is overly inquisitive."

  "We're lucky he's diabetic."

  "Yes, and you need to make sure to give him the shot where he'd normally give it to himself."

  James sighed and nodded. "There are cameras all over the house, are you sure this little black box will disrupt them?" James held up a small device they'd been toying with at the ranch. It blocked the signal from the cameras but only if they were wireless, thus ensuring he wouldn’t be recorded. If it didn't work, the blue contacts and fake mustache would throw the authorities off. They'd also changed his hair last night, going from dark to near blond. Marshal applied a bit of bleach to James' eyebrows, matching the color of his fake mustache thus completing the look.

  "It will work." Marshal sounded so sure of himself.

  "I'm glad you think so. I'm nervous."

  "You'll do good."

  "I know, it's normal, it's just I don't like this part. The few hours before I actually do a job I freak out. I want to be done with it but I still have so much more time before I'm finished."

  "It's almost go time. Your appointment is at eight. We'll be catching McKay before he heads out to do whatever he's planning on doing today."

  They'd come out last night and broke his cable, then intercepted his call, arranging the appointment for eight this morning. Without Grant to help them, the work on this job was almost too much. They were relying on luck and chance too much. He longed for cover and a nice sniper rifle. McKay would look like his sugar dropped then he panicked and had a heart attack. They were certain there were no cameras in the bathroom and Marshal was trying to figure out where the man's camera data was stored. That was one part of the plan that wasn't going well.

  His watch beeped, signaling that he only had ten minutes until he was scheduled to be at McKay's front door. "It's go time."

  "I'll figure out the camera thing. Trust me." Marshal climbed into the back of the van and slipped behind a curtain. He'd be hacking into McKay's computer system, searching for the video stream. They were hoping he wasn't sending his stream out to a security company. If McKay was as dirty as they thought, he wouldn’t want anyone else seeing exactly what he did out here or who happened to pay him a visit.

  The gate had been left open and only one car sat in the drive. McKay used to have live-in help, then he got rid of the servants a couple of years ago. It was around the time he started dabbling in illegal activities. Now that he was big on illegal acts, he didn't hire in anyone other than a cleaning company to freshen up the place before his visit, then someone to come out and take care of his messes once a week.

  James opened the door and grabbed a small case, one like the cable company employees carried. Acting the part was important so he said nothing to Marshal as he shut the door and made his way to the front door. They weren't wired in and he had no way to communicate once he ste
pped through the doors.

  Marshal banged away on the keys, searching for the video files. He hated that they were sending James in without having the videos blocked. If this all went to hell, both of them could end up in so much trouble no one would be able to help them.

  After five more minutes of fiddling around, Marshal was able to capture the feed and he flipped through the screens, finally finding James. The guy was chatting McKay up, laughing at something McKay said. It never ceased to amaze him how good of an actor James was. One thing James could do that many of the others failed at was change his accent on a whim so he sounded like he was from Boston one moment, California the next, Australia, South Africa or even Russia. His mastery at impersonations was impressive.

  Marshal began searching for the storage path and found the device. They were in luck. The files were backed up to a local hard drive and replaced every twenty-four hours. There were no outside viewers. He'd erase the files as soon as James killed McKay then set a program to start recording over them five minutes after they left, destroying all evidence that they'd been there.

  He switched back to watching James, finding both men on the ground in an epic struggle. Marshal clenched his fist, wanting to rush in to help James but knowing the man could take care of himself. Sure enough, the struggling stopped. James held onto McKay for another minute. After it looked like McKay had passed out, James used the second syringe to deliver the heart attack. James pulled out an alcohol wipe, swabbing McKay's hands then used a knife to clean out from under his nails, swabbing the fingertips again.

  McKay looked dead but James stuck around long enough to go outside and actually fix the cable that they'd unscrewed last night, thus prompting the call. When he came back in he donned gloves and wiped down the area, cleaning every surface he may have touched. Marshal watched as James placed his fingers on McKay's neck, ensuring he was really dead.

  James began combing through the house, going closet by closet, searching. Marshal guessed he was looking for a physical copy of the recordings. It didn't look like he found anything. He returned to the downstairs room where he'd stashed his toolbox and picked it up before leaving the room, checking one more time before heading to the exit. That was Marshal's cue to erase the video footage. Deleting was easy, but he needed to do a secure delete and that took longer. James was back in the van stowing his gear like he'd come off a simple workday—nothing special.

  "Almost done," Marshal called out.

  "How much time do I need to give you?"

  "One minute."

  "God, I just want to go."

  The adrenaline hit of killing another person would be sending flight signals to James's brain, telling him it was past time to leave. That he'd remained calm after killing McKay was what set him apart from a random killer. As assassins, they were trained to ignore the fight and flight response, taking care of business before getting away.

  Marshal noticed that the last of the video files had finished erasing and he started the next program, giving the command to start recording in three minutes instead of five. He'd decided that they'd be long gone by then and he wanted those new recordings started. As long as McKay wasn't discovered in the next few minutes, they'd be in the clear.

  "We're good to go."

  "Thank God." James started the van and took off. They'd checked out of their original hotel the day before then last night they'd stayed at a place in Grantham. They were driving to a private airstrip in Nottingham and flying to Glasgow. Once there, they'd fly home.

  Marshal stayed behind the curtain until James pulled over. They were hidden from view, well, as hidden as you could be out in the flat English countryside. James came back behind the curtain and peeled off his fake facial hair.

  He winced and rubbed at his upper lip. "Fuck, that hurt."

  "Here." Marshal handed him a new shirt and pants. James stripped down to his underwear, pulling on the jeans and a white button-down shirt. He pulled a sweater on over the shirt and a black knit cap over his head.

  "Do I look changed enough?"

  "You're good. We'll toss the Sky shirt here. The shoes need to be dropped before we hit Nottingham. Let's get the van fixed."

  Marshal had painted the blue Sky logo on the side of the van and now they needed a change. Painting over with white would only attract attention. Instead they covered the word with a stick-on logo for a grocery delivery company. By the time the van was found, no one would be able to tie it back to them. They hadn't rented it under their own names and they'd wipe it completely before leaving.

  The rest of the morning passed quickly. Before stopping for lunch, they found a store and bought hair color, using a small bathroom to color James's hair, turning his locks dark again. He looked more like himself though his brows were still light. Nothing had shown up on the wire about McKay's death. Hopefully they'd be home before the man was found.

  He'd bought a disposable phone and called Duff. The line picked up but silence followed just as he expected. "Done," was all he said. After destroying the SIM card, he tossed the phone in the trash.

  "We're free to head out," Marshal said.

  "I'm ready. Let's go home."

  Before parking the van in a busy lot next to the car rental return lot, they found an empty warehouse, removed the delivery signs, and painted over the blue letters. It wasn't perfect but good enough that almost no one would notice. After letting the paint dry for about an hour, they drove to the airstrip and turned in the keys. The leasing company would find the van parked in the wrong lot and think they were just stupid. With that business taken care of, he and Marshal caught a cab to the airstrip across town.

  James sat next to him on the plane and was out before they took off, resting his head on Marshal's shoulder. After they were cruising he took a moment to study James. He had no idea why certain men were pleasing to him. He wasn't gay, but given the right circumstances, he'd sleep with a guy. Maybe he was much more bi-sexual than he thought.

  Chapter Fourteen

  James had called the moment they touched down in Colorado Springs. Grant was glad to hear the mission had gone off without a hitch. He'd been reading the paper, searching for anything pointing to his team but there was nothing. He'd also not seen another mention of Craig's alias. The man must have gotten wise to being tracked and gone dark, picking a different identity.

  Roger had stayed away from him during the last twenty-four hours. He hadn't meant to be so mean, but he wasn't good for anyone, and it would be better if he and Roger could keep it professional.

  James and Marshal would be home in less than an hour. The money they'd been paid for the job had already been deposited in an account then transferred. The hard work of making the money untraceable always gave him a headache. Sometimes he hated what he did and what he'd become, but he hated injustice more and the men who'd killed those school children didn't deserve to live. Sure, the British government might catch the man who set the bomb, and with the leads Duff had sent them anonymously they would have a better chance than before, but they would never get men like McKay and make it stick. Now the money for Saoirse was gone. Duff had already taken that, transferring half of it into personal accounts for each of the men on the ranch, and he was working on setting up a few accounts to transfer the other two and a half billion into accounts to help with those injured in the blast and for the grieving families. He suspected that soon a donation would come from an unnamed source to honor the dead.

  Grant went in search of Duff and Billy. They were in the control room, the one place he hated going now with all the photos of Craig plastered over the walls. "Duff, they'll be here soon."

  Duff glanced up from his computer, his expression blank for a few seconds. "Oh, yeah, I talked to Marshal. He knows about our suspicions."

  "Great." The pressure had built to an almost unmanageable level.

  "Grant, I know this is hard. You are strong and will get through it."

  "I need to know the truth. Even if I don't want to, I nee
d to."

  Billy groaned and threw up his hands. "Hell, every place I look, every stone I turn that seems promising is just another dead end. I don't know that we'll find it this way. We're spending a lot of time on this and I'm freaking exhausted."

  Grant took the chair next to Billy. "Hey, I appreciate the time you're spending searching for the truth. None of us want Craig to be the bastard it looks like he is. Take a break. James and Marshal may be able to shed some light on the matter. Hell, go see your horse."

  "I'd rather go see my man." Billy scrubbed at his face, his whiskers rasping across his palm. His eyes looked bleary and his face splotchy.

  "Go see your man, he's out at the barn talking to your new horse," Duff said.

  "I'll go do that." Billy stood slowly and stretched, groaning as he moved.

  The man hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours. The team was doing their best to search out every lead. He couldn’t fault their work ethic. They were the best team of men to get to the bottom of the situation. If Craig was involved, they'd figure it out.

  Grant grabbed a Coke before heading to his room. The door to Roger's room opened and the man stepped out, sending a shot of heat through Grant. He'd been such an ass and now Roger was staring at him, his eyes wide and his face red.

  There were times Grant felt smart and prepared for anything; this wasn't one of those times. Roger turned to go back into his room but Grant stopped the door from closing. "Wait."

  "Why, so you can humiliate me again?"

  "No. I'm sorry. Can we—"

  Roger spun around, surprising the hell out of Grant. They were so close, their chests touching as they breathed. Again, they were physically close and he wanted it. He craved the physical closeness with Roger, not because of the man's hot body or the smile that made him want to taste those lips. No, he wanted Roger because he was the only man who'd ever looked at him with such naked emotions that he wanted to lose himself in the guy.