Hot Protector: A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 10

by Lynn Raye Harris

  Sophie on her knees with his dick in her mouth was just about the most exciting thing he’d ever seen in his life. She gripped him with both hands, licked and sucked him like he was made of chocolate, and he thought the top of his head might blow off if she kept it up.

  So he’d pulled her up, bent her over the bed, and slammed into her from behind. Damn, but her pussy was addictive.

  Then he’d set an alarm and lain down in bed with her. Now he stood and pulled on his jeans—not the easiest of tasks when just thinking about Sophie made him hard—then walked to the glass door and peered outside. Nothing looked out of place. He turned and went back over to the bed. Sophie lay on her side, curled under the covers, and he wondered for a few moments how many more times he would see her like this.

  One more time? Twice? Never?

  That thought sat like a stone in his gut. He told himself it didn’t matter, that he’d be banging some new chick by this time next week and her pussy would be every bit as wonderful. It was just the circumstances making this so exciting.

  That and the way they talked about anything and everything. Now that he’d miss.

  Chase swore softly, then checked his phone in case he had any texts from Hawk. There was nothing.

  “What time is it?” Sophie asked, her voice gravelly with sleep.

  “Not quite midnight yet.”

  She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. She yawned; then she got up from the bed. She was completely naked, her skin gleaming like pearls in the evening light. Her body was lush, full-figured. Her breasts swayed as she bent to retrieve her jeans from where she’d dragged them out of the suitcase and set them earlier. She didn’t try to hide her body as she began to get dressed. He knew that was a big deal, just as he knew if he were anyone else, she probably would have hidden herself from him.

  The fact that she didn’t hit him in the gut and sucked away some of his air. Then she pushed her hair away from her face and he was hit again, this time by how beautiful and amazing she was. No self-consciousness there. Only a sultry kind of beauty and the satisfied look of a woman who’d had great orgasms.

  Jesus, he was a lucky bastard that she’d shared all that beauty and sexiness with him.

  “Hungry again?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” Only he didn’t think she meant hungry for sex, which he definitely was—but he was also the other kind of hungry. It had been a few hours since they’d eaten, after all. “You?”

  “Oh yes. Sex with you is like running ten miles on the treadmill. A month with you and I could totally rock a bikini.”

  He knew she was joking, but the fact she was putting herself down pricked him anyway. “You could rock a bikini now. In fact, I’d like to see you in one. For my eyes only, of course.”

  “Come to LA this summer and maybe I’ll wear one for you.”

  He crossed his arms and regarded her. “Not going back to New York?”

  She frowned. “I kind of want to go somewhere far away from New York right now.”

  “I thought you had an audition next week.”

  Her chin lifted. “I do… but it doesn’t matter. I’ll find something in LA when I’m ready.”

  He hated that she felt like she had to run away, but he understood it. Doing what he did, he often saw the effects of posttraumatic stress on people. What Sophie had gone through could certainly cause a need for retreat and safety in familiar surroundings.

  “They film television shows in DC and Baltimore.”

  She stared at him for a long minute. Her throat moved as she swallowed. He cursed himself then because what the fuck was he doing? He couldn’t encourage this. Getting involved with Sophie would be bad. They’d have to hide their relationship—their familial relationship on paper, that is—and he’d have to lie to his mother.

  It wasn’t worth it. But that thought made his chest constrict. Why not? Why isn’t this worth it?

  “I can’t go to DC, Chase.”

  He shrugged even though there was an ache in the pit of his stomach. “It was just a thought.”

  He tugged on a shirt. He wouldn’t sleep again before it was time to leave for the airport. He’d rested when it was safe to do so, but the closer they got to go-time, the less safe he felt. It was typical mission adrenaline. Once they were back in DC, he’d feel better about the whole thing.

  A car’s brakes squealed to a stop outside and then doors slammed shut. He didn’t think much of it until the sound of multiple footsteps began to echo up the stairwell. He listened hard. It could be anything. It could be nothing. There was no way that Turov had found them. How could he?

  But Chase’s instincts wouldn’t let him ignore it. He grabbed his jacket and then shouldered the bag with the weapons and ammo as he turned to Sophie. She was standing frozen near the bed, her head cocked as if she was listening too.

  The footsteps grew louder. Too much purpose in them, too certain of their destination.

  “Get your shoes and jacket on. NOW!” he told her.

  She grabbed the motorcycle boots and pulled them on, zipping them up quickly. Chase went over and threw open the sliding door to the balcony. The night air was cool, but he wasn’t since adrenaline rushed in his veins.

  “What’s going on?” Sophie asked as she hurried to his side.

  “We’re leaving,” he ground out as he pushed her onto the balcony and shut the door.

  Behind him, everything was quiet—until the sound of splintering wood cracked into the night.

  Sophie gasped, her head turning toward the room they’d just left.

  “No time,” he told her. “Climb over the edge and down onto the roof next door.”

  “Are you crazy? It’s a six-foot drop, at least. And if I miss—”

  “You won’t miss. It’s wide and flat—go, Sophie, for fuck’s sake!”

  She did as he said. The roof next door was a drop, but there was no space between the buildings. All she had to do was land and wait for him.

  He heard her hit and then he went over the edge and joined her. Above them, he could hear the balcony door slide open. Russian voices came to them from the balcony. Someone peered over the edge, spotting them just as Chase dragged Sophie behind a concrete casement on the roof.

  She trembled as the Russians shouted, her eyes wide, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she worked to control her breathing. She was terrified, and that made him angry. Angry with himself and with these fucking Russians.

  Goddammit, the flash drive must have had a tracking program enabled when he plugged it in. But he hadn’t transmitted over an open connection. He’d had a secure satellite link.

  Which meant the transmitter was programmed to seek out any open Wi-Fi source and transmit that way. It would explain why it had taken hours for the Russians to find them. They’d been narrowing down the signal, trying to pinpoint the exact location it had come from. They hadn’t wanted to make a mistake, so they’d bided their time.

  Fuck.

  “Stay low,” he said as he dragged her toward the rooftop door that hopefully led down into the building.

  There was a thunk and a vibration beneath his feet, and he knew the Russians had jumped onto the roof.

  Chase grabbed the door handle and twisted. It opened, and he rushed Sophie through, closing it behind him and turning the lock.

  “It won’t hold them for long, but we don’t need long,” he told her as he started down the stairs, Sophie on his heels.

  “How did they find us?” she panted behind him.

  “The flash drive. It must have a locater program on it.”

  “Shit.”

  An understatement.

  They thudded down the stairs, flight after flight, and Chase listened for the sounds of pursuit. The door was metal, so the Russians wouldn’t shoot it, but they could break it in given enough leverage. Which they would do, but he hoped it would take them a little bit of time.

  It was possible there were more than the three of them he’d gotten a glimpse of,
which meant there could be men outside this building waiting for them. But he had to take the chance, because what other choice did he have?

  He could barricade them into an apartment and shoot anyone who tried to take them, but that would be dangerous for the residents—and it would bring the gendarme. If Androv had even half the influence in Paris that he seemed to have in New York, then what were the chances Chase and Sophie would last the night in police custody?

  He didn’t know, and he wasn’t taking that chance. When they reached the bottom landing, Chase stopped and held Sophie back with an arm.

  “What now?” she whispered.

  The door upstairs burst open with a loud whomp sounding against the wall, and Sophie jumped, looking up with round eyes.

  He grasped her shoulders and forced her to look at him. “If they’re out there, they expect two people to walk out of this building. We have to split up.” He shoved the key fob at her. “Go and get the car. Calmly, as if you have every right to be here.”

  She clasped the key fob in her hand. “And then what?”

  “Drive away.”

  “What? No, I’m not leaving you!”

  He gripped her harder. “This time you have to. If you wait, if you swing back around for me, they’ll know.”

  “And if they catch me anyway?”

  He kissed her quickly, frantically, while the sound of boots echoed down the stairwell, bringing the Russians closer. “Don’t think like that. Just go. You’re an actress, Sophie—so fucking act. Don’t let them suspect it’s you. It’s dark and they don’t know what they’re looking for—other than a man and a woman. They’ll watch you, but if you don’t look suspicious, they won’t bother you.”

  He gave her the burner phone he’d tucked into his jacket after they’d gotten to the safe house, closed it in her hand. “Go to the airport. Call Hawk. I’ll meet you there if I can.”

  She tugged him back down and kissed him hard. “You better be there, Chase.” She sucked in a breath and a little sob escaped her. “Damn you.”

  Then she turned and strode toward the door, and Chase prayed like hell he was right and that she would get away.

  30

  Sophie took a deep breath, shook her head to clear it, then walked out into the night with her head high. She twirled the key fob around her finger and sang a song in French, as if she’d just come from a hot night of passion with her lover but had to leave for some reason. She strutted down the sidewalk, toward the BMW parked there, and prayed the Russians weren’t watching for her.

  Closer, closer.

  The Bimmer grew bigger, but she didn’t punch the button to unlock it. If Sergei Turov was out here and knew she and Chase had a BMW now, she didn’t want to give it away until the last minute. She couldn’t give it away, because she had to get into the car and drive past the building no matter what Chase said. She had to give him a fighting chance to run to the car.

  She strained her ears to listen for the sound of footsteps on pavement, following her, but she heard nothing.

  Her heart hammered and every instinct she had told her to turn around and go back to Chase. How could she leave him? It physically hurt to walk way. To kiss him like that and imagine it could be the last time.

  What would she do if it was the last time? How would she recover from it?

  She just had to get the Bimmer and drive past the door, let him see that he could run to her. She reached the car, but fear spiked in her belly and she didn’t stop. Instead, she walked a little farther down the street, just a couple of cars, but then she crossed to the outside and walked back to the driver’s side. She held her breath as she pressed the button, then she yanked open the door and climbed in.

  She nearly melted in relief that she was inside, that no one had stopped her. She reached for the ignition button—but the passenger door jerked open and a man dropped into the seat beside her. The breath stopped in her lungs. She couldn’t manage a proper scream, but when she thought her chest might burst from lack of air, her lungs suddenly worked and she sucked in a breath, letting it out in a sort of half yell.

  She punched the ignition, thinking if she blasted away from the curb he’d lose his balance and fall out before he could shut the door. But no such luck since he slammed the door and turned to her.

  “Drive, Sophie. And do it quickly.”

  Except she couldn’t move, couldn’t manage to perform the tasks necessary to get the car moving. She gaped at the man. He hadn’t spoken with a Russian accent, which was a good thing—but she didn’t know him. He could still work for Grigori.

  “Who are you?”

  He reached over and pressed the start button—she hadn’t pressed it at all, which she now realized as the engine roared to life. “I’m someone who’s here to help you—and I can’t do that if you don’t get this car moving.”

  “What about Chase?”

  “He’ll be fine. He’s highly trained and deadly. Without you to distract him, he’ll get the job done. Now please fucking drive.”

  Sophie shoved the car in gear and managed to ease out of the spot without hitting anything, which was a miracle considering the way her hands shook.

  “You didn’t tell me who you are,” she squeaked, heart pounding furiously in her chest. Chase hadn’t mentioned anyone who might help them. Whoever this guy was, Chase hadn’t known he was here. He’d told her to call Hawk. This man was not Hawk.

  “Call me Ian,” he said, glancing over at her before looking behind them, presumably for signs of pursuit.

  “Ian. Are you on Chase’s team?”

  He laughed as he turned back to her. “Hardly. But he knows me.”

  Traffic wasn’t exactly light this time of night, but it was better than during the day. Though Sophie had never driven in Paris, she could at least read the signs.

  “We need to help Chase,” she said as she turned onto a wide boulevard.

  “He doesn’t need our help. Now pull over up there and I’ll drive.”

  She gripped the wheel. Hard. “I’m not letting you drive. Chase didn’t mention anyone named Ian. For all I know, you work for Grigori.”

  His smile was pleasant, but something about it chilled her nonetheless. “It’s good that you’re suspicious, Sophie.”

  “How do you know my name? How did you know where to find us?”

  Chase had mentioned a tracking device on the flash drive. This guy could be one of Grigori’s men and just toying with her. For the first time, she wished Chase had given her a gun.

  “I know your name because Mendez told me. I knew where to find you because he told me that too.”

  Mendez. She’d heard Chase mention that name, and not in a bad way. “Who else do you know?”

  “Hawk is the one who set this trip up for you. Jack ‘Hawk’ Hunter. He’s married to Gina Domenico—beautiful woman and beautiful children.”

  Gina Domenico? Hawk’s wife was the pop star? Holy shit. Maybe, just maybe, this guy was on her side after all. He knew things she didn’t think anyone working for Grigori would know. Her hands relaxed on the wheel a little bit.

  “So you know Hawk and Mendez. But why are you here now? Where were you before those men found us?”

  “Sorry, had a job in the south of France. I got here as quickly as I could.”

  “I want to call Hawk.” Because Chase had told her to. Because until she did, how would she know she could really trust this man?

  “Go ahead. I’ll wait.”

  She fumbled the phone from her pocket and tried to dial. It was impossible while driving. Finally, she eased the car over to the side of the road and managed to find the right button to connect her to Hawk.

  He answered on the first ring. “Fiddler, what’s up?”

  “It’s not Ch-Chase,” she said, glancing over at Ian.

  “Sophie—what’s wrong? Where are you?”

  “I’m with someone named Ian. He says you know him. The Russians found us… Chase… I don’t know how he is. He was fine when
I left him—”

  Her throat was tight. Her pulse tripped and sweat broke out on her skin. If something happened to Chase…

  Oh God, she couldn’t think it.

  “Fucking hell.” Hawk sounded concerned and a little pissed, but he didn’t sound like he thought she was about to be murdered. “Can you give the phone to Ian?”

  She held the phone out without a word. Ian took it and put it to his ear.

  “Your boy’s got backup,” he said. “One of my guys is there to help mop up the Russians.” He put an elbow against the window and shoved a hand into his hair. “Yeah, I know you aren’t happy. Take it up with Mendez. It’s not my fault you bitches don’t talk. … You know, this isn’t where I wanted to fucking be, Hunter. I’ve got a business to run, and this kind of shit takes valuable time. … Yeah, love you too, baby. Here’s Sophie.”

  He shoved the phone at her and she pressed it to her ear. “Hawk?”

  “Do what Ian tells you, Sophie. He’s on our side. And don’t worry about Chase. He knows what he’s doing.”

  Chase couldn’t watch as Sophie went out the door and headed for the car. He hoped like hell she made it. It was a calculated risk, and one that it killed him to take. But he had to. The men coming down the stairs were moving fast. They’d be in the lobby soon—and he didn’t want Sophie anywhere near him when they arrived.

  He had to let her drive off on her own. If he tried to go with her, any Russians watching outside would realize who they were. He couldn’t take that chance. If he had her circle around and pick him up, she’d still be in the vicinity and they’d have an opportunity to intercept her.

  No, he wanted her gone. On her way to the airport while he created a diversion and bought her some time.

  He took out the Sig and retreated into the shadows of the stairwell. Waiting. Above him, the footsteps grew louder. A door in the building opened and someone yelled in French, no doubt angry at the late-night disruption. He was surprised there weren’t more doors opening.

  Though there probably would be quite soon. In fact, they’d be dialing the gendarme before this was over.