Hot Pursuit

by Julie Ann Walker

  He thrust up a second finger. “Number two, I’m nice and accommodating and acting as if nothing has changed between us because nothing has. You’re still you, adorable and bossy and altogether infuriating. And I’m still me, single-minded and stubborn and completely barmy about you.

  “Number three.” Up went a third finger. “If me touching you makes you remember all that we shared and all we could still be sharing if you’d only pull your head out of your ass, then that’s your problem, not mine. I’m not the one who put a stop to our lovemaking. You did that.”

  By the time he raised his fourth finger, he was shaking with barely repressed fury. “And last but not least, I am not suffering some delusion about being in love with you. I am in love with you. End of story. And that you would belittle it by brushing it off and saying it’s less than it is makes me want to box your ears until your head rattles!”

  He hadn’t realized he’d been pacing until he came to a stop in front of her. His heart thundered. His chest rose and fell with each livid breath. And seeing her staring up at him with those wide, dark eyes, her mouth open in a shocked O, had him fighting the urge to kiss the shit out of her.

  Instead, he blew out a calming sigh and said, “You’re not mad at me, Emily. You want me, but feel you can’t have me. There’s a difference.”

  She stood up. “I can’t have you! Because if what you say is true and you really do love me—”

  “I do.”

  “Then continuing to sleep with you would make me a horrible person!”

  He cocked his head. “Why? Says who?”

  “Says me!” She hooked a thumb toward her chest, and he saw her hand was shaking. Brilliant. He didn’t want to be the only one having difficulty controlling his emotions. “It wouldn’t be right.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking when her eyes pinged down to his pecs and then ran over his tattoos before returning to his face. “Why wouldn’t it be right? Haven’t you ever heard of friends with benefits?”

  “You don’t just want to be my friend.”

  “True.” He nodded. “I want to be much more than that. But if I can’t have it, I’ll settle for being your coworker, your lover if you’ll have me, and the man who provides a positive male role model for the two children you want to have. Because here’s the deal, Emily. For the longest time, I dreaded the thought of BKI going civilian. Like I told you, I tried the Joe Bloggs gig and it didn’t work. I thought my soul was too violent, too barbaric. And I thought without the madness that is the spec-ops life keeping me distracted, I’d get sucked back into my past. But loving you has changed me. Made me realize I’ve no need for an outlet for the intensity inside me. All I need is you. I’m someone else when we’re together. Someone more…like my true self. And I would rather be your friend forever, with or without benefits, than a stranger to you for even one day.”

  A muscle worked in her jaw. Was it him, or were her eyes overly bright?

  “Why do you have to be so…so…” She swallowed and shook her head.

  “So what?”

  “Wonderful!” she yelled, then ran from the room, slamming the door behind her.

  For a couple of seconds, he blinked at the space she had occupied. Then a slow grin spread across his face. His mind drifted back to the big yellow bed in the manor house and her charming impersonation of the silly sheriff on The Dukes of Hazzard. Like Rosco P. Coltrane, Christian was in hot pursuit. But it wasn’t a ’69 Dodge Charger he was after; it was Emily’s admission that she was in love with him.

  If he could get her to say the words, she would be his forever.

  * * *

  The next day, Emily looked at the empty chair beside her and then around at the half-full conference table. She scowled because even if the table had been completely full, there still would have been a vacant seat next to her.

  It was a conspiracy. She was convinced of it. Trouble was, she wasn’t even mad about it anymore. She’d come to expect the empty chair.

  “So what did you and Christian get up to last night?” Samantha asked from beside Emily.

  “Nothing.” She was pleased to note her voice sounded smooth and convincing.

  Samantha stuck out her bottom lip. “That’s too bad. I was certain you and Christian—”

  “Stop saying you and Christian,” Emily interrupted, feeling like a rattlesnake at a petting zoo, poised and ready to strike anyone or anything that came her way.

  She’d been ill-tempered and peevish ever since England. But today she was particularly irritable because last night she’d come to the startling conclusion that Christian was right. She did want him. But more than that, she loved him. There was no other name to give all those bright, sparkly feelings.

  Unfortunately, realizing she loved him changed nothing. She was still a Scott and a bad bet when it came to romance, at least the long-lasting kind. Which meant she wouldn’t act on her feelings out of kindness to Christian—you know, in case they disappeared some day—and out of fear that if that day ever came, she’d put everything she’d worked so hard for in jeopardy.

  “There is no me and Christian,” she added, perhaps a bit too forcefully.

  “Like I said”—Samantha shrugged—“that’s too bad. And stop trying to kill me with a look. I’m not that easily intimidated. Besides, if you don’t cut it out, your face might get stuck that way.”

  Emily sighed. As a fellow South Sider, Samantha was immune to Emily’s usual ’hood-girl tactics. On the one hand, a pity. On the other, it was nice to have someone with whom to talk White Sox baseball and to share the best places to get deep dish.

  Deciding her best bet at self-preservation was to change the subject completely, Emily said, “So what’s with the impromptu meeting?”

  They’d had their sit-rep at 8:00 a.m. It was now 7:00 p.m. Most of the Black Knights had gone home, at least those who didn’t still live on the premises. So the only people sitting around the conference table were Ozzie and Samantha, Ace and Rusty, Angel, Becky, Boss, and…

  Right on cue, Christian strolled into the conference area. It was on the second floor, which was open on one side to the bike-building shop below. Wasting no time, Christian snagged the seat beside Emily. A second later, his arm went around her chair, and his fingers began twirling the ends of her hair.

  Boom! Pow! That was the sound of all her bright, sparkly feelings, her…love exploding all over the place. Christian turned to gift her with a smile that was so sweet it made her heart ache. When she sucked in a startled breath, his sweet smile turned positively wicked.

  He was playing her as easily as a musical instrument. And worse, she was letting him.

  Her narrowed eyes told him to go do something with himself that usually required a party of two.

  He leaned over to whisper, “I’m not really into that, darling. If I were, I’d have saved myself loads of trouble in life. Still, if you fancy volunteering—”

  She was about to cut him off—just the thought of what he was suggesting had goose bumps peppering her skin—but Boss beat her to it.

  “So, let’s do this, shall we?” Boss spun a Ka-Bar knife atop the table. He was a blade man, so the weapon was never far from him. Emily had wondered more than a time or two if he took it to bed with him and then tried to imagine how Becky might feel about that.

  Since no one had answered her initial question, she tried again. “Do what exactly? What’s with the impromptu meeting?”

  “Samantha”—Boss tilted his head toward the brunette to Emily’s left—“this is your show.”

  Samantha nodded and folded her hands atop the conference table. Her eager posture, paired with the oddly timed meeting, piqued Emily’s interest. “So I heard back from my contact in London,” she said. “He says it took some doing, but he found out that Christian’s name was given to the director of current affairs at the BBC, a woman
named Layla Sharp.”

  Emily stilled. Could it be? Was this the lead they’d been waiting for? Her heart rabbited out and started hopping around inside her chest.

  She looked around the conference table. “Shouldn’t we call in the rest of the team? Everyone will want to hear this.”

  “We’ll brief them in the morning,” Boss said. “I don’t want to wait one more second to figure out who Spider is.”

  “Okeydokey then.” Emily nodded, turning back to Samantha. “Proceed.”

  Samantha’s eyes were bright with intrigue. As an investigative reporter, she got super excited when she smelled a juicy story. “Supposedly, this source told Layla that he knew Roper Morrison’s bodyguard, Steven Surry. According to this source, before Surry died, he’d called to say that besides the agent who’d been sent in to bring Morrison down, he’d recognized another guy, Christian Watson, a fellow former SAS officer.”

  “Told you Surry was to blame,” Rusty said, crossing his big arms over his even bigger chest and leaning back in his chair. His auburn hair was in need of a cut. It curled around his ears and fell over his brow, enhancing his already ridiculous good looks.

  “Yes”—Ace nodded—“you were right. Further proof that you’re not just a dumb jock, huh?” When Rusty shot him a scathing look, Ace added, “What? Am I annoying you?”

  “Only when you’re breathing.”

  The two of them had been trading verbal punches for a month. But it was obvious to everyone at BKI that, despite their outward animosity, they were actually crazy about each other. Trouble was, neither was willing to admit it because neither was willing to bend on his position. Rusty was determined to remain in the closet. Ace was determined never to get involved with anyone who wasn’t out. So, just like Emily and Christian had done, Ace and Rusty limited their flirting to flaying each other alive with their tongues any chance they got.

  Emily very much wanted to shout at them to work their shit out. Because anyone with eyes in their head could see they were perfect for each other. But considering how all the Black Knights kept trying to convince her to give in to Christian, and considering she didn’t want to be labeled a hypocrite, she decided to keep her mouth shut.

  “And let me guess… This Layla broad went to the SAS to try to confirm Surry’s claim,” Christian said, dragging Emily’s mind back to the conversation. And to the fact that his hand was now wrapped around her shoulder, all heavy and warm and reminding her of what it felt like when it was on her breast and—

  Ugh!

  “According to my contact, that’s right.” Samantha dipped her chin. “And she must be cozy or sucking the dick of someone there at the SAS”—good ol’ Samantha, never one to couch her words—“because she not only confirmed that you were, in fact, former SAS, but that you might have been the soldier involved in the Kirkuk Police Station Incident. Once she found that out, she put a dozen of her finest reporters on your trail.”

  “And from there they discovered I had an uncle and that my uncle had a house in Port Isaac.” The muscle beneath Christian’s eye was freaking out.

  “That’s the long and short of it.” Samantha nodded.

  Ace blew out a disbelieving breath. “It happened just the way we thought.”

  “Guess that means we’ve been in this business too long,” Boss said, “when nothing surprises us anymore.”

  There was a chorus of grumbled agreement around the table.

  “Now”—Boss went on, still spinning the blade. It caught the glow of the fluorescent lights overhead and sparkled menacingly—“for the question we’ve all been waiting for. Who the fuck gave this fucking BBC bird Christian’s name?”

  Ah, Boss, Emily thought. A man after my own heart. He might be the only member of BKI with a dirtier mouth than hers.

  Ozzie, who had remained silent up to that point, typed something on the laptop sitting in front of him and then spun the machine around until they could all see the screen. “Let me introduce you to Lord Asad Grafton.”

  Emily blinked at the photo of the man on the screen. “He doesn’t really fit the mold of most English lords.”

  “From what I can find out, Grafton was the product of a brief dalliance between the prior Lord Grafton and an affluent African princess. He took over his father’s business after his father’s passing, as well as his father’s title and seat in the House of Lords.”

  Emily took a closer look at the photo. “He has merciless eyes.” Glancing around the table, she said, “Is this him? Have we finally identified him?”

  The faces staring back at her were tight with emotion. The excitement in the air was palpable.

  “I think so.” Ozzie nodded, his crazy hair doing a dance atop his head. He was wearing a gray T-shirt that read: Everything I Know I Learned from Star Trek. “But the limited amount of digging I’ve done on him in the last hour hasn’t revealed any ties between Grafton and the black-market businesses we know Spider is involved in. Although, there is this…”

  Ozzie did some hocus-pocus on the keyboard. For a brief moment, the screen went blank, then a video began playing. It showed Asad Grafton speaking at a podium outside the Palace of Westminster. He was going on about tax reform and bringing production back to Britain.

  His highbrow English accent struck Emily. Given the dregs of society that Spider employed and the bottom-feeding nature of his businesses, she’d always assumed the man would look and sound like a thug.

  After the video finished playing, the screen froze on a shot of Asad turning from the podium. Across the table, Angel made a noise. Considering the guy was usually as quiet as a church mouse, it caught Emily’s attention. For the first time since she’d met him, she saw emotion on his face. Intense emotion.

  “What?” She turned back to the screen, trying to see what he was seeing. “What am I missing?”

  “Sonya Butler,” he said in that raspy voice.

  “Who?” Emily squinted at the laptop image and the blond woman taking Asad’s arm.

  “You know Sonya?” Ozzie lifted a brow.

  “I worked with her on a case when I was Mossad, before I—” Angel cut himself off. “Yes. I know her.”

  Ozzie and Samantha both leaned forward eagerly. Boss stopped spinning his knife. Becky had been in the middle of unwrapping a Dum Dum lollipop but stopped. And both Rusty and Ace grew very still. As for Christian? Well, his hand tightened on Emily’s shoulder, not helping her pounding heart one little bit.

  “So you know she used to work for Interpol?” Ozzie said.

  “Used to?” Angel lifted a dark eyebrow, his hell-black eyes fierce.

  “She was suspected of aiding and abetting an international fugitive,” Ozzie said. “She would have been prosecuted, but her superiors couldn’t find indisputable evidence against her. They were forced to simply fire her. Two months later, she went to work for Grafton as his personal assistant.”

  Angel did the damnedest thing. He popped his jaw. A nervous tick. Something none of them had seen him do before, making it all the more telling.

  Obviously, there was more to Angel and Sonya’s story than simply working together on a case when Angel had been a Mossad agent. Color Emily intrigued. She might even have asked Angel to fill in the blanks, had Christian not distracted her by sweeping her hair over her shoulder and massaging the tension out of her neck.

  She would have swatted his hand away, had it not felt so good.

  “Is it possible she’s undercover?” Samantha asked.

  “No such thing.” Angel’s raspy voice had gone completely guttural.

  “Huh?” Samantha frowned at him.

  “Interpol is not what the movies show. It is not U.N.C.L.E. It does not have power or jurisdiction over local police agencies. It does not track down or capture suspects. Nor does it send agents undercover for anything.”

  “It doesn’t?” Samantha a
sked.

  “Interpol simply acts as a liaison between police forces,” Emily explained. Her time with the CIA had taught her a thing or two about international agencies. “It maintains databases on criminals and facilitates communications between law enforcement from different countries. That’s it.”

  “Huh.” Samantha blinked. “Who’d a thunk it?” She shook her head. “But, still, maybe this once they’ve stepped outside their box and sent this Sonya chick in to—”

  Ozzie cut her off. “I considered that, so I made a call to a buddy who works for Interpol. He couldn’t find anything to suggest Sonya was undercover for Interpol or anyone else. In fact, he said it’s well known within Interpol that she went rogue, turned dirty.”

  Angel’s nostrils flared. Emily wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his expression turned even fiercer.

  “And we all know how Spider likes to gather disgraced agents and soldiers to his side,” Boss rumbled, going back to spinning his knife.

  “That we do,” Ozzie agreed. “So now the question is, how do we prove that Grafton is Spider?”

  “We keep digging,” Samantha said. “We follow every lead until we find a connection.”

  “That could take months,” Ace muttered. “Or years. Which we don’t have because our funding runs out in December.”

  Before President Thompson had left office, he and General Pete Fuller, the Head of the Joint Chiefs, had set up an account that continued to pay BKI’s salary for one year. They’d done so hoping the Black Knights could identify Spider and gather the evidence needed to bring him and his entire empire down during that time.

  “We need to get someone on the inside of Spider’s organization.” Angel spoke the words quietly, which made them all the more powerful. “I volunteer.”

  For a while, silence enveloped the conference area. It was eventually broken when Peanut hopped onto one of the chairs before leaping onto the table. The rotund tomcat stalked to the center of the gathered group, flopped down, lifted a leg, and began thoroughly cleaning his balls.