Virtues (Base Branch Series Book 8)

by Megan Mitcham

  She opened an arm, yanked Luck into the fold, and exhaled fully for the first time since they’d left the warehouse. Her head bobbed against Rin’s silky hair.

  “We’re not going anywhere right now,” she declared.

  “Not leaving?” Luck lurched back. The fight or flight instinct etched his features.

  “No. Well, except to get something to eat. Who’s hungry?” Cara let her hand squeeze its way down Rin’s arm and then around her hand.

  “You’re not going to take this seriously?” Luck stepped into her path.

  “I just got my daughter back. I just got you back. I won’t lose either of you by running away from a group who's given me no reason to run and the grace to stay. I will verify Vail Tucker’s story and Tyler Grace’s background for starters.” Unbidden, the use of his name conjured the image of the loose-hipped soldier cowboy. His easy smile and hard hands nabbed her focus. She rubbed a hand over her cheek, enjoying and hating the hint of heat.

  “Rin has made a life here.” Cara’s free hand lifted for Luck’s. “You’ve made a life here and plans for a future.” Luck’s gaze danced toward the garage and then back. “We won't throw it all away on a whim.”

  One at a time, they squeezed her hand.

  “So where do you want to eat?”

  “I know what you’re doing.” Rin pointed her manicured finger at Cara.

  “Thank you, Marco.” Cara smiled at the boyishly handsome waiter.

  “My pleasure.” He slid a glass rich with red liquid, bursting with slices of strawberries, oranges, and apples in front of Rin. “Can I get either of you more water?” His gaze slid to Luck’s empty chair across from her and next to her daughter’s seat.

  “That would be lovely.” She nodded.

  “Any dessert for you this evening?”

  “I think we’re all stuffed from dinner.” Cara’s hand instinctively covered her queasy stomach. She’d eaten to soothe Luck’s nerves, while she plied her daughter with alcohol to soothe hers.

  Mother of the year.

  “Can’t tell it.” The waiter bent at the waist. He winked and flashed Cara a devilish little smile. “I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

  Kids would do anything for a tip these days. Had she been alone on the other side of the world, she might have just let him. She had before. Young men with shaggy hair and foreign accents had saved her soul on more than one occasion.

  “Thank you, Marco.” She dismissed him with a soft smile.

  The waiter hadn’t cleared the concrete pedestal and mahogany-topped bar six feet from their table when Rin spouted, “Polo.”

  Giggles seeped between Rin’s punch-red lips. Her hand smacked over her mouth in a futile effort to stem the eruption. The lid had blown and her pent-up emotions—joy, fear, sorrow—spewed out in liquor-soaked laughter.

  Cara’s hand lifted to her heart. It was the most beautiful sound.

  “Another one?” Luck pulled out his chair and sat, his arched brow aimed at Cara. He had excused himself to the bathroom, but from the slight gleam of sweat on his brow, she guessed pretty damn accurately that he’d taken a stroll around the block to check the scene. She didn’t offer an explanation, but he knew her motivation. Her daughter had been a tight ball of nerves. When he caught the jingle of Rin’s laughter, he forgot about Cara. The corners of his mouth lifted toward the exposed ductwork and lighting. “What?” His question was gentle and bursting with love and curiosity.

  Rin doubled over, bracing her forehead against his chest. Maybe they hadn’t needed that last drink, after all.

  “Polo.” Rin wheezed the word out between convulsive snickers.

  “Marco. Polo.” Luck’s head shook back and forth, and slowly, his amusement mingled with hers.

  The waiter returned with a pitcher of water and refilled their glasses. It incited an aftershock of laughter, and Marco had good enough sense not to stick around.

  Warmth spread from her center and enveloped Cara, save for one cold spot at the base of her neck. This was contentment but not the completion of her mission. She had plenty left to do. Tomorrow.

  “Oh, Lord.” Rin leaned back and mopped the tears and running mascara from under her eyes. “I don’t even like wine.”

  “Sangria is more fruit than wine.” Cara waved a hand in the air, dismissing her worries.

  “After three glasses, it’s not.” Luck pouted.

  Cara leaned forward and lifted her glass. Rin lifted hers immediately. After several seconds and a nudge from her daughter, Luck raised his glass. She centered her attention on him first. “Sell the Bentley and buy your food truck.” He gave an exaggerated blink, and she turned her gaze on her daughter. “Make wedding plans. I don’t know much about them.” Cara’s marriage to the Russian asshole had been arranged for her. “But I’ll be honored to help any way I can.” She pressed the cold glass above the table in the center. “To the future.”

  6

  Steam rose from the slit in the Styrofoam cup lid on the hood next to him. Only the dim streetlight at the edge of the parking lot allowed him to see it and the rust-riddled railing of the two-story no-tell motel. The moon had slipped off to the other side of the world hours ago, but the sun had yet to make an appearance. Lazy bastard. He enjoyed this time of day more than any other time. Dark didn’t mean quiet. Not until the first hours of the morning. The animals, human and non, skirting around civilization in the shadows turned in for the bright day. The law-abiding faction clung to those last precious minutes of sleep. This was the no man’s land of time. This was his time.

  Tyler gulped the last of his gas station blend and set his empty cup next to the other one. His mouth stretched into a grin. He reached toward the darkness and arched into the ache of his bruised kidney. A growl usually reserved for the side of his bed rumbled to life. When it was over, he deflated slowly, resting his forearms on his knees. Below his cowboy boots, dried exoskeletons and bug guts speckled his chrome bumper.

  “Sorry, Talulah. It looks like you won’t get that scrub down I promised. Not today, at least.” He patted the shiny hood with the edge of his fist. “She’s either a late sleeper or she’s figured me out. In which case, we’ll be on the road tracking her down for days.”

  Talulah didn’t respond. His 2500 never did. It was what he liked best about her. Well, that and her ability to tow over a dozen head of cattle.

  A soft click echoed around the corner, followed by the easy tread of small shoes. Heeled shoes. Chalk up a win for the good guys.

  Cara Lee rounded the corner heading for the bus stop, he’d guessed. She didn’t have a car. Not that she couldn’t jack one in a few seconds or rent one, but last night at ten p.m., he’d followed Rin Lee’s Accord to this out of the way spot. He watched Luck see Cara inside and then tour the exterior, looking for him or someone like him. Too bad for the guy, Tyler was staked out two blocks away on the roof of an old bank.

  The fraction of a second before she noticed him perched on the hood of his truck made the sleepless night an easy price to pay. Half-mast eyes surveyed the area with insipid interest. While she’d run for many years, not being caught inflated her confidence. Elegant legs glided over the cracked sidewalk in low-slung stilettos with a nonchalance that had him thinking of an afternoon of unhurried, sweaty entanglement.

  Sleepy eyes snapped to attention. Every languid muscle contracted, drawing her up taut as a rope towing a ton. Cheekbones meant for a muse pointed at him rife with accusation.

  “How the hell did you know where I was staying?” Her voice shook.

  “Morning.” Tyler slid from the front of Talulah and regretted it the moment he was airborne. Coiling his knees to absorb the landing only added to the reverberation up his back. Hunter had done a number on him, and it was all this lady’s fault.

  “Don’t try and sweet talk me. How did you know where I was staying?”

  “Sweet talk? Darlin’, I haven’t started sweet talking you. When I do, trust me, you’ll know.” He reached
back, pulled both coffee cups off Talulah, and offered the fresh one to Cara.

  She dodged him and stomped away.

  He caught up with her and kept stride before they passed the next motel room door.

  “How’d you know?” she snarled.

  “Do you think I cop a feel on all the steer I wrestle?”

  Pianist fingers immediately combed through her hairline and then roamed over her collarbone, searching for the paper-thin tracking device. They reached the road in short order. She forced her hands to her sides. “Well, you are from the South.”

  “Ouch!” Tyler tossed his empty cup into the garbage outside the bus portico and then clutched his heart. “Low blow. I may have to take my coffee back.”

  “I haven’t taken your coffee.” Her arms flew out from her sides.

  “But you will.” He winked.

  “Pfft. You wish.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not poisoned.”

  “It’d be the first.”

  “That rough, huh?”

  She shoved her hands into her pockets and stared at the steaming cup. A grin niggled, but he kept it locked down. Her light blue gaze found his. “You have no idea.”

  “No, I don’t suppose I do.” The sincerity in her expression sucker punched him. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Hit up the local library. I’m sure they have a story time.” She turned away. The back of her head was as pretty as the front. Hair piled atop her head in a tight bun showed off the fine curve of her neck.

  “They don’t tell your story.”

  Her head snapped in his direction. “And neither do I. Why are you here?”

  “Nate Harlow wasn’t in your roundup yesterday. I’ll guess he’s your first stop this morning.” Besides the Base Branch, which was an unknown she was surely trying to figure out, her daughter’s ex-lover/CIA operative was the enemy she’d surfaced to handle. No way would she leave that stone unturned.

  “Shows what you know.” Her brows danced.

  Was she bluffing or did she have other business this morning? He couldn’t tell. “Oh, really?”

  “I’m not your concern.”

  “Actually.” He smiled because she was the best mission he’d had in years. “You are. If you start killing people willy-nilly, Base Branch won’t be able to sanction your amnesty.”

  “You need a body to prove death, much less murder.” Thin lips outlined white teeth. Her lower incisor was shifted back and to the side, just a little, giving her mystery more depth.

  “Nate knows that, which is why he went dark after his handler vanished.”

  “He won’t be hard to find.”

  “Not at all.” Tyler held out the Styrofoam cup. “Take a ride with me?”

  7

  Interstate turned to highway and quickly devolved to a narrow, pitted excuse for a road that still boasted a highway sign. Cara slammed the cup of coffee she’d polished off many miles and minutes ago into the console’s holder. She yanked the seat belt from her neck and glared at Tyler Grace. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Anticipation is half the fun.”

  “I don’t like surprises.”

  “Then you haven't had the right ones.” He slid her a salacious casual glance and then took it away before she could berate him for it or even be certain it wasn’t just her imagination running amok.

  Cara tossed herself against the seat like a child. The seat belt choked her for the offense. “Shit. Is this thing made for giants?” She grabbed the material and held it off her irritated skin.

  The right front tire drifted off the edge of the road. Her brains bumped and lurched with the uneven ground. “What…” Her grip tightened on the seat belt, and her other hand joined in as the truck rolled to a stop on a steep hill.

  Tyler unbuckled.

  Cara’s brain didn’t scream as it should have. The hairs on the back of her neck neglected to stand on end. Her heart revved. That little spin of adrenaline was the extent of her reaction. Regardless, she lunged for the gun at her ankle.

  “Well, that just proves it,” he drawled.

  Cold hard metal greeted her palm. Her hand wrapped around the butt of her pistol, but his tone more than his words gave her pause. She kept her hold but looked across the cab. “Proves what?”

  “That you like wrestling with me.” He drew his bottom lip into his mouth and pulled it out with a sweet smile.

  “It proves I don't trust you.”

  “Maybe. Maybe it proves you don't trust yourself. Because you know I won’t hurt you.” His elbow rested on the center console. The confines of his worn, gray T-shirt showcased his shoulders and the serrated edge of his obliques. He moved slowly and steadily, closing the space.

  Cara’s throat constricted. She released the handle and planted her back against the door and cool window. His face hovered a foot and half away from hers, yet the proximity pulled heat to her cheeks. Other places too. His thickly corded forearm reached out past her head to a knob on the wall panel.

  “I wish you’d said something forty minutes ago.” He adjusted the seat belt to the lowest setting. “Your neck is red.” His gaze stroked over the spot as surely as a caress.

  Her hand flew to the light abrasion. “It’s fine.”

  “Mmm.” Tyler withdrew back to his seat, buckled, and checked the rearview mirror before pulling onto the road.

  Mmm. What the hell did that mean? It didn’t matter. Cara scrubbed a hand down her face and situated in her seat. The belt fit neatly between her breasts and over her shoulder. She should’ve thought of it. Better yet, she should have stuck to her no. Annoyed with herself as much as Tyler, she turned toward the window while they coasted over gradually rising and tapering hills.

  Hues of yellow and pink tickled the horizon, giving life to the day and shape to the former darkness outside. Lush foothills reached toward the sky, one outdoing the other as they stretched north and east. As the sun rose, it colored the cotton-clouded horizon in shades of pink. It contrasted with the green grass and trees, while wooden fences outlined manmade boundaries for miles in every direction.

  Minutes later, Tyler turned onto a gravel drive lined with large oaks. It wound over a small creek and split large fields speckled with horses. If he’d brought her horseback riding, she’d shoot him for certain. She didn’t have time for moony shit. Though she’d enjoyed the sport once upon a time.

  Trees opened to a two-story white brick farmhouse wreathed with a garden and archway bursting with blooms. The drive split, offering a circular path in front of the ethereal home and a path around back. Gardens and grass sprawled for acres, creating the feel of an old English country estate. Tyler drove around the house and parked under a white pergola bowed with the weight of the greenery it hosted. He turned off the engine and hopped out of the truck that had taken well-placed foot and handholds for her to climb inside.

  In front of her sat an understated stone patio, leading to a red back door. The vibrant color matched the large red barn 100 yards from the house. Her door opened, filling the cab with morning light. Gardenia blossoms scented the air that filtered in with it, overtaking the new car scent with nature. She filled her lungs.

  “Heaven, isn’t it?” Tyler stood in the yawning gap between her and the ground and offered his hand.

  Cara nipped her burgeoning smile. “I’m not getting out until you tell me what this place is. Do you live here?”

  “Sometimes.” He shaded his eyes from the bright rays and looked up at her like, ‘What’s the big deal?’

  “How the hell can you afford this place?” No way could he afford this on a Base Branch salary. The CIA hadn’t paid her enough to cover the driveway. No governmental agency would. Give us your blood, firstborn, your life. Oh, here’s a pittance for your trouble. But we pay leaders—the talking heads—enough to buy small countries. Bureaucracy at its finest.

  “I didn’t say I owned it.” His smile caught the rays and blinded her.

  “You haven’t said much of
anything.”

  Again, he offered his hand and that disarming, lopsided grin. Cara glared. A curl of dark hair peeked out the collar of his shirt at the base of his neck between the carved parameter of his pectorals.

  “It belongs to the Sanfords, my parents’ business partners and good friends.”

  Oh, God. She lusted over a guy who lived with his parents’ friends. Wasn’t that worse than living with his parents?

  Cara jerked her gaze to his. “What business are your parents into?”

  “Cattle. The Sanfords have the best horses.”

  “Where are they?”

  “In the pasture. You didn’t see them in the field on the way in?” Again with the winking.

  “The Sanfords, smartass.”

  “Somewhere in the Mediterranean. They travel a lot. So do I. It helps them to have someone to oversee their business while they’re gone, and it gives me a break from…” His gaze slid to the side and then back. “Well, you know.”

  She did—too well. “Why are we here?”

  “Get out and find out.” He took a step back, throwing down the gauntlet.

  Never one to back away from a challenge, Cara slid off the seat. It was a long way to the ground, and she landed in a crouch. When she stood, Tyler’s chest was too close. “You know this thing is hell on gas and the environment. It’s not too kind to knees either.” Jesus. She sounded so old. And she was too old to do this flirty thing. Stick to business, Lee.

  He hitched his scrawled silver belt buckle. His very large belt buckle. “Yep, it is. But it hauls horse flesh a mite better than a Prius.”

  This guy kept her off balance, a shitty thing while she navigated a tightrope with her daughter in one hand and her adopted son in the other. Cara cleared her throat and ducked around Tyler. She hurried across the stone path toward the house but didn’t know where to go. Her steps faltered a few feet from a cast iron fire pit. “Where to?”

  “The barn.”