But mostly, Tucker had a set of two perfectly good ears that didn’t seem to pick up the frequency of her voice. Or something. She could look right at him and make eye contact, or at least think she was making contact with the man behind those twinkling eyes. He’d nod, smile, and say all the right things, but she knew he wasn’t really listening. Not to her, but always to that cochlear implant in his ear. Darn the FBI for that. What woman could compete with a twenty-four-hour switchboard that lit up her man with the adventure of faraway missions and risky assignments, with other people that desperately needed him? She couldn’t.
She stared out the window at the bustling city and its wide array of colors. Men and women were everywhere, their heads under cover of the traditional nón lá, the conical straw hats of most Asian countries. Baskets of brightly colored vegetables beneath arrays of multi-colored umbrellas lined the street, carefully stacked pyramids of melons, oranges, and other fruits. The ever-present smell of fish and spices mingled with smoke and wood, filling the air.
Melissa drank it all in. For whatever reason, this exotic land reminded her of the cocky and incredibly brave man she missed. Since their final words, she hadn’t spoken to him, not even to say goodbye before she’d left the States, but now she wished she had. He’d meant well. He did. If only he’d listen once in a while. If only he’d stop trying to impress her with his war stories. If only he’d stop taking risks.
Tucker would have had his arm protectively around her shoulder if he’d been there, and she wouldn’t have a care in the world. He’d get the supply trucks, and he’d probably drive one of them back to the clinic if he had his way.
Her cheeks warmed at the thought of him having his way—with her. A trickle of sweat trickled between her breasts. She crossed her legs at that too willing clench at her core. One look into his sexy blue eyes, one thought, and she’d always turned into a silly woman, ready to throw caution to the wind and ride that bad boy to the ground. Or the bed or floor, wherever they ended up.
Nothing had changed since she’d first met him at that ridiculous cult in California she’d gotten tangled up with. Her tongue slid between her lips, savoring the memory of the taste of his mouth. His tongue. The prickly scrape of his whiskers on her chin. In the crook of her sensitive neck. His hot breath in her ear. It really was lust at first sight.
Tucker never failed to show up at her place deliciously fresh from the shower, his black hair still wet, his masculine scent mingled with some exotic blend of mandarin and amber. A hint of gunpowder. Fourth of July fireworks. Sizzle...
She shivered under an assault of goosebumps that chilled her to her bones and prickled her breasts. It had been so long since she’d been intimate, and Tucker was a heart-stopping, sinfully gorgeous real man. And he knew it.
The sight of him and his typical swagger never failed to leave her breathless and more than a little weak-kneed. He knew how to handle a woman, and Melissa definitely enjoyed being handled by him. She just didn’t want to end up like that elite rifle he toted, the one he could field strip in his sleep without thought or care. The one he slung over his shoulder with all his other weapons. The one he took for granted…
Intimacy was a big step. Tucker’d been around the world, and he’d been with a lot of women. Not her. Brady McCormack was her one and only, her childhood sweetheart. She might never get that special, love-of-my-life feeling back again, but she needed to be more than just another pretty girl in Tucker’s harem.
Hence, her three-month sabbatical from all things Tucker-related. He needed to decide if she was worth giving up his wild lifestyle for, and she needed to decide if she could live without him if he wouldn’t. The man was an adrenaline junkie, ready to run into danger the second it winked his way. She wasn’t.
The bus swayed through the circular drive to the airport. The terminals gleamed ahead, the sun bright off the massive plate-glass windows. Melissa climbed off at the first stop. Dr. Hanks had told her the warehouse would be easy to spot from a distance with the Trans Air Freight sign over its front dock. With her bag clasped tightly in one hand, she shielded her eyes and searched east of the busy airport.
A breath of relief escaped her. There it was on the other side of the fenced runway. Three rigs backed up to the long, concrete dock. Several workers scurried back and forth with hand trucks and forklifts. It looked to be a mile away, but the day was sunny and cloudless. The walk would do her good, and soon she’d be on her way west with the supplies. Good enough.
The young man from the bus shuffled past her, his head down and a dirty jute bag slung over his right shoulder. He gave her a quick sideways glance, then headed down the same path. She stretched the tension out of her shoulders and followed. Wouldn’t it be a coincidence if they both had business at Trans Air Freight? A jetliner rumbled out of the sky and landed, drowning out the traffic behind her. She picked up her pace, anxious to get back to the relative safety of the clinic. The heat and humidity were getting to her.
She lost track of the young man when she entered the warehouse through the office at the far side of the dock. Relieved that her errand was nearly finished, she went straight to the desk and presented the invoice for goods received. “Good morning,” she said to the man with the Trans Air Freight logo on his shirt. “I’ve come for Dr. Hanks’ order.”
“You must be Mrs. McCormack,” he replied with a definite smile. “Chet called earlier. He said you were on your way, and that Kim took off again. I’m Barry Cummings. Good to meet you. I was starting to wonder how long I’d have to park those rigs for the good doctor.”
Oh, good. English. She breathed easier. “Hi, Barry. It’s good to meet you, too. Has Kim run off before?”
He nodded. “I knew her before she went to work for Chet. She runs with a tough crowd. Sign here and I’ll get you on your way.”
Melissa signed for the supplies, troubled that Kimmie had dropped the ball. She knew how much Chet depended on her. What could’ve happened that was more important than the clinic?
“Right this way.” Barry ushered Melissa through the busy work bay toward the rear of the warehouse. “The refer rig’s the shortest. I imagine Chet wants that more than the others since it’s full of pharmaceuticals and other perishables. Don’t worry. We’ve kept everything cold.”
“When can we leave?”
“As soon as I get the drivers rounded up. You’re welcome to sit in our break area while you wait. It’s cooler. Coffee’s more like mud, but the fridge is well stocked. We’ve got sandwiches, some chocolate milk. Help yourself; I won’t be long.”
“Thanks. I will.” She ducked into the small room and selected a turkey and cheese sandwich, and a bottle of apple juice from the refrigerator, thankful for the familiarity of Americans and American food items. Fish, rice, and phở, the traditional noodle soup of most Vietnamese diets, were good, but turkey and cheese? A very welcome change.
Downing the last drops of her juice, she stared out the open rear warehouse bay. Men’s voices called out to each other in both English and Vietnamese from the yard, a mixture of camaraderie and typical male banter. Tools bumped and clanked as they dropped to the concrete floor. Another big rig backed to the rear dock, its driver calling for someone to come help him maneuver. Heat waves radiated from the blacktop out back. Only the oscillating fan in the corner of the break room offered a cooling draft amidst the workday world of men.
She must’ve dozed off when a loud BAM! startled her. The table beneath her fingertips shuddered, the massive light fixtures overhead flickered off, and a cloud of gray smoke billowed in from the loading bay. Men shrieked. One screamed. More yelling in English and Vietnamese.
Melissa jumped to her feet. Something must’ve exploded. They might need her limited medical training. Trembling from the sudden adrenaline rush, she ran toward the noise until—
Pop. Pop. Pop! Br-r-r-rt. Another gunshot then... silence. She stopped dead in her tracks.
“Hey pretty lady,” a young male voice taunted. “Y
ou come with me now.”
She spun around, her heart climbing up her throat. It was him. That young man from the bus. Only now he was armed and leering at her as if he owned this part of the world.
Maybe—he did.
Chapter Three
Tucker saw the smoking warehouse from the terminal as he stepped around some kind of welcoming committee blocking the exit from customs. The shindig with its bright red banners and crowd of cheering people had to be for someone mighty important. He’d just landed after a long international flight with his new buddy, Isaiah Zaroyin. He was tired and on his way to a shower and a clean hotel room. Who cared what burned in Vietnam?
Thankfully, Isaiah had kept out of Tucker’s head the entire flight over. Isaiah was a good kid; Tucker just didn’t want to cut him any slack until he knew how helpful he could be.
An explosion rattled the plate-glass windows along the east terminal wall. Black smoke billowed from one of the industrial warehouses opposite the runway. Tucker kept walking. He dismissed the explosion as just another interesting side note to the mission when his ears detected the rapid-fire of an assault rifle. Things happened on job-sites like the industrial one east of the airport. That was why the Occupational Safety and Health Administration was alive and well in the States.
He stopped walking long enough to scan the corrugated-steel warehouse, now blanketed in flames. Three tractor/trailer rigs fled the scene. A camouflaged pickup, too. He squinted, forcing every last atom in his eyes to see more than was humanly possible. If folks only knew how meched-up he was, that the cochlear implant in his ear was nothing compared to the mechanized zoom lens implanted in his eyeball…
He pressed his index finger to his temple, activating the optical zoom, straining to see farther. Better. With sharper acuity.
A gutsy woman rolled out of the moving truck, her arms tucked in tight, her hands cradling her head. At least she knew how to duck and roll. She scrambled to her feet and took off running back toward the warehouse, the wings of the bright yellow scarf covering her head trailing behind her. Tucker dragged Isaiah to the window, his FBI brain on duty and taking in every last detail of the obvious daytime abduction. A guy gave chase. Damned if he wasn’t brandishing a pistol, the little prick.
“Maybe we should call the police,” Isaiah murmured.
“Shut it,” Tucker ordered. “I’m working here.”
The kid with the gun lifted both hands and aimed, but another guy raced from the truck waving his arms. The gunman lowered his weapon. By then the other had run past him and tackled the woman. She covered her face when she went down, but he jerked her to her feet, his face in hers, berating her. The bastard hauled off and struck her, knocking her to her hands and knees. A blonde cascade of golden curls fell over her shoulders and—
Son-of-a-bitch. No. Tucker’s mouth went dry. Melissa? That woman couldn’t be her. Not here. God, where was that Doctors for Charity clinic she’d been so thrilled about? Could it have been in Vietnam? Had she ever said? Had he been too preoccupied with himself he’d missed something this important?
“Read that woman, damn it,” Tucker demanded angrily of his psychic buddy, his fingertip stabbed against the glass window. “Read her. The blonde. Is that Melissa McCormack out there? Tell me!”
“I’m already reaching out to her.” Isaiah’s brows came down. His eyes narrowed. For a mind reader, he took long enough to say, “Yes, it’s Mrs. McCormack. She’s scared. I’m picking up six men with her. All armed. They’re after the drugs in that refrigerated trailer that just pulled out of there.”
Tucker didn’t wait for the rest of the story. Not his country. Not his war. But that was his woman. “Keep up with me or get the hell away,” he growled at Isaiah, pounding his way out of the airport.
Stewart’s agent was smart. He let his boots do the talking.
“Where are they headed?” Tucker asked.
“West. They’ve got her inside the truck with them, back seat and she’s pinging loud and clear. She’s terrified, but she’s gathering details and landmarks. She wants to remember where they’re taking her.”
Good girl. Keep your wits, Melissa. Don’t fall apart on me. I’m coming.
Isaiah kept up, and he kept close. “How are we going to get over there?” he finally asked at the terminal exit. “We don’t have a car. Should we call a cab, or—”
“Maybe,” Tucker muttered under his breath. Or borrow that American-made Buick idling at the curb. The one with the fancy chauffeur in the stupid get-up. A guy just didn’t see many American cars like this one in Vietnam.
He double-timed it to the driver’s side, and told the flustered man to shut the hell up and get out of the way while Isaiah climbed in, strapped on, and sputtered, “Alex is going to bust my ass for this.”
“Not Stewart. He’d do the same thing,” Tucker declared, his foot to the pedal as he executed a mean U-turn. “Where is she now? Can you tell?”
“The three diesel rigs are going south into the heart of the city, but she’s in the truck headed west. Watch out!”
“I see it,” Tucker hissed, dodging the herd of three-wheeled rickshaws and mopeds, since he was going the wrong way on a one-way street. He put his foot on the gas and laid on the horn. Swerving, he tested the Buick’s skid control with a mean side drift, his instincts on automatic. Isaiah hung on, both palms braced to the dash. Sirens blared from somewhere close by.
“Turn right,” Isaiah ordered. “See the dust cloud? The truck’s a half-mile up ahead.”
Tucker obeyed, finally on the right side of the road, impressed with Isaiah’s talent. He’d only known one other psychic in his life. Isaiah might just be as good as Eden Stark Winchester.
A wispy cloud of red smoke billowed ahead over the steady traffic. Horns blared. Something popped. It sounded like a bomb. These guys were getting desperate if they were blowing explosives on their way out of town.
“Keep to the left shoulder,” Isaiah directed. “The guys in that truck are tossing grenades into the shops at the side of the road. Traffic’s tied up on the right, but your left shoulder should be clear. Just don’t run over anyone.”
“Would I do that?” Tucker complied, grinding his teeth at the audacity of those men to abduct Melissa. To slap her. Damn them all to hell!
His buddy, the Grim Reaper, lifted up from his soul to ride on his shoulder, a constant reminder of all he’d seen and all he’d done. What he’d become. The justice he’d delivered. The debts he’d collected at the point of a gun. What he meant to do when he caught up with those men.
Darkness shifted at his peripheral, the snaky tendrils of the smoky Armageddon he meant to wreak on those clowns in the pickup. His eagle eyesight drew a bead on the guy sitting beside Melissa. If only Tucker had a mechanized weapon to go along with that futuristic lens implant. He could end this here and now.
“They’re six cars ahead of you.”
“I see them.” Speed was of the essence. Tucker stepped on the gas and passed three cars and one truck, dodging an old man pushing a flower cart, his endgame never wavering. Melissa would be safe in his arms tonight.
He’d never loved Nicole the way he loved Melissa, and maybe it was time to tell her. Maybe it was possible. Maybe he wasn’t the monster he honestly felt he was. Maybe there was hope for his wicked soul. Melissa certainly seemed to think so. “To hell with her self-righteous morals.”
“Excuse me?” Isaiah had the nerve to look shocked.
“What?” Tucker snapped even as he inwardly cringed. I didn’t say that out loud, did I?”
“Umm, never mind. Punch it,” Isaiah prompted, stabbing his index finger forward. “You’re going to lose her if you don’t get up there now.”
Tucker spared his cohort a quick glance. What did Isaiah know that Tucker did not?
Oh shit. That.
He slammed on the brakes. He had no choice. An old-fashioned, steam-driven locomotive. That was what Isaiah knew that Tucker didn’t. Clear out of the past centur
y, it came chugging out of nowhere from the stacked-up buildings at the right. No horn. No warning. Just an iron wall sprung up between Tucker and Melissa, just a train Tucker could’ve beat if he’d known it was coming down those tracks.
“Damn it!” He punched the steering wheel and scrambled out, eyeing the train cars while working the probability of an idiot flying between two of them and making it to the other side, preferably alive.
“What then? Steal another car?” Isaiah answered Tucker’s unspoken challenge, his dark eyes also locked on the train. “You’ll never make it, Agent Chase. Aren’t trains over here required to lower their speed inside city limits?”
Tucker couldn’t answer. His heart was in that pickup racing west away from him.
Something in the atmosphere shifted. A stiff breeze picked up. The once clear sky darkened with the onset of rain. The change in weather suited his frame of mind. Those men in the truck needed to know that hell was on its way—that Tucker Chase never gave in and he never gave up. That he would kill every last one of them when he caught up. “Can you track her?”
Isaiah nodded. “I’m still in touch with her. She isn’t aware of me, though. She’s crying.”
Tucker flinched at the sucker punch of his woman suffering. He sucked in a gut full of remorse for not getting to her in time. Her pain and her fear was his fault.
“Make sure your seatbelt’s tight,” he ordered as he dropped back into the car and slammed the door. The end of the train was in sight. “We’re going hunting.”
“But you’re supposed to meet your wife and son tonight,” Isaiah reminded him.
“Ex-wife,” Tucker clarified. “I will.” Somehow. Maybe.
Isaiah blew out a controlled breath. “All right then. The trucks are at the edge of the city. Fewer buildings. Less traffic. Once they reach the countryside—”
“Don’t lose her!” Tucker punched it just as the last train car cleared the tracks. He would’ve made it too, if three police cars hadn’t just rounded the corner ahead of him and blocked him in, their sirens blasting and their lights flashing.
King of Hearts (Deuces Wild Book 1) Page 4