by Misty Evans
“Talk to me,” he said over the motor noise. “Are you okay?”
She looked up at the broken back window from between her arms. “Is it over?”
He nodded. “We’re clear.”
Slowly she unfolded herself, brushed glass off the seat, and sat, never taking her eyes off the road behind them. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.” He needed to put pressure on his neck, stop the bleeding, but there was no way he could turn loose of the wheel with his right hand. He had no feeling in his left. “Can you find the first aid kit behind your seat?”
“First aid…?” Her gaze finally swung to his and she sucked in a breath as she caught sight of his neck. “You’re bleeding!”
“Just a scratch. A little gauze and a bandage and I’ll be good to go.”
Without warning, she flopped over, putting her head between her knees. “Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod.”
Apparently she didn’t do blood.
But, in true Hope Denby style, she rallied a moment later, hyperventilating now under control. “Shouldn’t we get you to the hospital? You might need stitches.”
“Nah, like I said, it’s just a scratch.” Or a gash with glass still embedded in it. “It’s not the first time I’ve been hurt. I’ll be fine.”
“What about your arm?” Her eyes jackknifed between his swelling forearm and his bleeding neck. “Is it broken?”
“It hurts like hell, but it’s just bruised,” he reassured her.
Averting her eyes, she found the kit behind her seat, opened it and started cracking open packages of gauze and antiseptic wipes like a woman on fire. “I can’t believe he did that!”
Brice drove toward Chinatown using an awkward combination of his good hand and his knees as he tried to bandage his injury. Finally, Hope sucked up the last of her queasiness and took over cleaning up his neck.
“I’m so going to sue his ass,” she said, making little gagging noises as she wiped away Brice’s blood. “I got his name and badge number.”
“Hope, we were trespassing and performing an illegal hack into the company’s mainframe. Probably not in our best interest to sue the guard who was doing his job.”
“Oh, right. Still, excessive use of force! Come on. We were making out behind the building. Big deal! He didn’t know we were actually hacking into the computer. Overreact much, Mr. Idiot Cop?”
Brice found himself smiling into the night. Thank God for Hope’s tirade and the laptop, still safe under his seat. Whatever was on those manifests, he hoped it was worth it.
Chapter Twenty
His arm stung like a son of a bitch. Blood and perspiration soaked his back. Goddamn security guard.
He parked in the same spot behind the safe house apartment and killed the lights. From the outside, everything looked the same as they had left it. “Stay here,” he told Hope.
“Why?” she asked.
“I want to make sure the safe house is still safe.”
Brice hopped out, took the laptop out from under his seat, and snuggled it under his good arm. He closed the truck door and headed for the steps.
The third from the top, he stopped. Cool air drifted over him. The hair on the back of his neck rose.
Someone was there.
A quick glance over his shoulder told him Hope was still in the truck. For once, she’d listened.
But he was unarmed and injured. Not a great combination to meet whoever was inside.
He should turn around, get back in the truck, and drive the hell out of there. Instead he took the last three steps on ninja feet, snugged his body up next to the door, put his ear against it and listened.
Not a sound came from inside. They’d lowered the blinds so he couldn’t peek in at the window. Yet he knew from the hair on his neck and the tingle down his spine that there was a definite presence inside.
Setting down the laptop, he heard Hope rolling down the passenger side window of the truck.
“Is everything okay?” she staged whispered.
God help him.
With two fingers, he signaled to her to be quiet. He could almost hear her huff of indignation.
He’d just picked up one of the ceramic plant pots, devoid of anything but hard-packed soil, from the railing to use as a weapon, when the door swung open and the last man on earth Brice wanted to see stood in the doorway.
“Are you coming in any time tonight or do I need to call Sydney and tell her not to hold dinner for me?”
Grey.
Brice lowered the pot. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Grey’s gaze dropped to Brice’s bloody neck and slid down to his already black and blue forearm. “Checking up on you, and for good reason, it appears.” He glanced over Brice’s shoulder. “Where is Miss Denby?”
“Right here,” she said from the bottom of the stairs.
So much for staying put.
She took the stairs two at a time, eyes taking in Grey. “Who are you?”
Grey stepped back. “Let’s take this inside, shall we?”
Brice nodded at Hope and motioned her to follow. He grabbed the laptop.
In the living room, Grey held out a hand to Hope. “Nice to meet you, Miss Denby.”
She glanced at Brice. “Friend or foe? Friend, I assume.”
“This is Justice Greystone,” he told her, not identifying him as either since he wasn’t always sure himself. He wasn’t as much of a pain in the ass as Mitch, but he still had his moments.
Brice handed her the laptop. “See if we got what we went for.”
“Sure.” She seemed to understand that Brice wanted to talk to Grey alone. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Like she wouldn’t still hear them, but whatever.
Grey crossed his arms over his chest. “You left the safe house.”
“Teeg told you.”
“He also told me why. Risky.”
The gash on the back of his neck was still dripping blood. It ran down his arm and now dripped on the floor at Brice’s feet. “Rewards don’t come without risk.”
Grey’s gaze once again slipped to Brice’s bruised arm. Being of the male species, he didn’t make a big deal over it. “So did you find out the identity of ‘my guy’? Why is that so important?”
So not only had Teeg told him about Brice heading to the charter company, Mitch and Caroline must have filled him in on the conspiracy board. “Gut feeling.”
From the frown on his face, Grey didn’t put much stock in gut feelings. “Cops going to be looking for you?”
The guard had no doubt gotten Brice’s license plate number. “Probably.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Not necessary.”
“Consider it one of the benees of working for me.”
Staying out of jail was a nice perk. “Who said I’m working for you?”
“The moment you involved Teeg in this case, your ass become my property. Like it or not, you’re working for me.”
The adrenaline was wearing off. His vision swam slightly from blood loss and the throbbing pain that had migrated all up and down his arm. All he wanted to do was sit down and have a stiff drink. “You might consider stocking hard liquor in this place.”
“Amen to that!” Hope called from the kitchen.
A slim smile touched Grey’s lips. He gave a chin cock at Brice’s arm and the blood dripping on the floor. “You need someone to look at that?”
“I’m good.”
“All right then.” Another chin cock at the kitchen. “Read your latest blog post. You’ve kicked the hornet’s nest. Don’t be surprised at what comes for you.”
“Been there a few times. I’m prepared.”
Another glance at Brice’s injuries told him Grey wasn’t so sure. “I’d recommend staying inside the safe house.”
Hope emerged at that moment. “Um, Hawk?”
“Yeah?”
The look on her face said it all. “The manifest? The only people listed on December 14th are Joel
and Daisy. No one else.”
His gut bombed. He needed to sit down. Now.
“Balls,” he said, stumbling into the kitchen and sitting in front of the laptop. His eyes dropped to the file Hope had open. The private flight had three crew members and two passengers listed. That was it.
“Did you check the days around the 14th?” he asked. “Maybe My Guy took a different flight.”
“There were no flights to Barbados.”
My Guy was a dead end.
“What about the pictures? We have those photos from Daisy’s blog,” Hope said. “There has to be some way to run his photo or something. Do you have a facial recognition app?”
Her voice was full of hope. He had an app for everything else, why not that?
Brice swung back to Grey, his stare steady, hoping the suit would take the hint. “Well, since you’re under the assumption you own my ass, what do you say? Help a guy out, here?”
Grey sighed. “The Justice Team has access to the FBI facial recognition software and database. Send the photo and we’ll run it. Teeg will send you the next set of files for you to work on.”
Brice felt his adrenaline hangover lift ever so slightly. A deal had to be struck. “One file. I’ll work on a case-by-case basis only. Okay? Great. I’ll email you the pictures.”
Grey started for the door. “Send them to Teeg. Oh, and…” he paused before opening it. “Welcome to the team. You’re back on Syd’s cookie list.”
As he closed the door behind Grey, Brice laughed and flipped him off.
“Well,” Hope said. “He’s...interesting.”
“FBI profilers are unique, that’s for sure.”
Blood continued to drip down his neck and Hope thought back to the night when he’d doctored her leg. Between them, they were a hot-mess.
She grabbed his arm and hauled him toward the bathroom where she’d wash out the cuts from the glass and make sure he didn’t need stitches. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
At the bathroom, she gently pushed him inside. Hawk stepped in, moving right up against the tub so they’d both fit in the tiny room.
She grabbed a washcloth from under the sink, turned the hot water on and waited for steam to rise. “You’ve got blood all over you. Your shirt is trashed. Take it off.”
He glanced down at his arm. Dried and fresh blood stained not only his arm but the front of his shirt. “Shit. This is one of my favorite shirts.”
He reached over, shut off the water.
“Hey,” she said, “we need to clean you up.”
“I know. I’m gonna jump in the shower real quick. It’ll be easier to see the damage.”
“You might need stitches.”
“Doubt it.”
Lovely. Mr. Know-It-All strikes again. “Right. I forgot.”
“What?”
She pushed around him, whipped the worn shower curtain back and slapped on the faucets, jerking the little lever for the shower while the water warmed up. “You’re doing it again. Reminding me you’re older and wiser. So, of course, if you say you don’t need stitches, I guess you don’t need stitches. Whatever, Hawk.”
“Whoa, Hope.” He touched her arm, gently guiding her so she faced him again. “I didn’t mean it that way. I didn’t. Honey, it’s not bleeding that bad. I’ve been cut, shot, and beat to a pulp before in my former job. I have experience with these kinds of wounds. I figured I didn’t need to get stitched, but if I do, absolutely, we’ll get it squared away.”
The mirror behind his head fogged up. Shower is ready. She reached out, grabbed the hem of his shirt and eased it up. He cooperated. Let her do the work and lift the shirt up over his head. Even if she had to go up on tippy-toes to do it, he let her.
Thank you. For once, she wanted to be in charge and do the comforting. And she needed him to let her do this for him. Even if it meant being pushy about it.
“Get those shoes off,” she said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
He kicked out of his shoes and made a move for the button on his jeans.
“I’ve got it,” she said.
“Hope, my arm is fine. I think I can—”
“Shut it. I’m doing it.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Uh, okay.”
A minute later his pants were at his ankles and she bent low, tapped his right foot. “Lift up.”
“Hope—”
“Shut it.” She smacked at his foot again. Not hard, but enough for him to know she was riding a perilous edge of emotions and if he pushed hard enough, she’d tumble in the wrong direction and light him up.
When he didn’t move, she glanced up at him, held his gaze for a few long seconds, keeping those emotions locked in place. Hawk was a lone wolf, he might need a little time to adjust to someone, a woman who actually gave a damn about him, ordering him around. She’d give him that time, but it wouldn’t be limitless. She smacked his foot again. ”Up.”
Finally, he did as he was told.
“Now the other one.”
Seconds later his pants were off and she guided his boxer briefs down his legs, her fingers moving over his skin and her mind flashed back to her wrapping her legs around him for the first time, him pushing inside her and the way his body felt against hers. Warm and male and protective. All of it came back to her and she breathed out.
“Damn,” he said.
She glanced up and her gaze landed on his crotch where a healthy erection greeted her. Apparently she wasn’t the only one with naughty thoughts.
“I can’t help it,” he said. “You do this to me. I hate it sometimes. The lack of control.”
She stood, cupped her hands over his cheeks. “Don’t hate it. Please. It’s an amazing feeling. Knowing I do that to you. And for you to admit it? That’s...a gift.”
A small smile lit his face. “You know,” he said, “to properly clean this cut you’ll have to get into that shower with me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep.”
There’s a thought. But she wouldn’t be that easy. She’d make him work for it. At least a little. “I’m not sure about that. I think you should just hop in there and get cleaned up. Then when you get out, I can look at it.”
“I think you’re wrong.” He leaned down, nuzzled her neck. “My idea is better.”
Oh, wow. That neck nuzzling? Total jackpot. Then he upped the pressure by nipping the skin and her body self-combusted. She moaned softly, admitting to herself that maybe he had a point.
“You are older,” she said, “And sometimes wiser.”
His arm came around her, went straight for the zipper on the back of her skirt while she worked the buttons on her blouse. Three seconds later, they climbed into the tub and the hot spray slammed against her skin, shocking her at first, making her wince.
Hawk went for the faucet to adjust the temperature. “Too hot?”
She slid in front of him. “No. It’s perfect.”
And it was. Her fatigued muscles immediately relaxed, but this wasn’t about her. This was about him and her being in charge and she wanted that. Wanted that moment when she could be the wiser one. She faced him, then slid around him, her back connecting with the tile on the wall as she maneuvered.
“Where you going?”
“First things first. I need to see that cut. Let the water hit it and turn back around.”
He angled back, once again facing her, letting the spray soak his back while his hands came up and cupped her breasts. She should yell at him for it. For not focusing on getting that cut clean, but God, when he touched her, something inside her just broke loose, let her relax.
But then he slid his one hand lower while the other one pressed on her nipple and—no, no, no—he would not distract her.
“Turn around,” she said.
His mouth dipped into a pout and she rolled her eyes before dropping a body searing kiss—one of those tongue inclusive, soul skimming ones that she only had nerve enough to initiate with Hawk. Something about him unleashed
a sexual beast inside her.
She liked it.
A lot.
He pulled her closer, crushing her against him, but she pushed back, breaking the kiss and earning another boo-boo face. She patted his cheek. “Don’t pout. You’ll get what you want. Believe me. I need to take care of you first.”
He grinned. “This would be taking care of me.”
“Shut it. Turn around.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He turned to the wall, but kept one hand on her hip, as if he were afraid to let go. As if she’d vanish.
Not a chance.
Slowly, she ran her hand up his back, over the lean muscle of his shoulder and let it rest there as she eyeballed the inch long cut that would need a butterfly bandage. The glass had sliced him good, but it didn’t look fleshy enough to require stitches.
She leaned in, kissed him between the shoulder blades. “You’ll live, sailor.” She held her free hand out. “Give me that soap.”
“Lucky me,” he said. “Make sure you get the below the waist parts.”
Hope burst out laughing. “Lord, you are a pig.”
He didn’t seem to mind because as she worked the soap up over his back, he set his hands on the wall and leaned into it, groaning a little as her hands moved over his skin. Water rained down on them, bouncing off his back, hitting her breasts where his hands had just been and she bit her lip, thought about all the things he’d already done to make her body come alive.
He’d done this to her. Made her sex-crazed. Before him, with the men she’d dated, the ones she’d thought she loved, she’d enjoyed sex, but didn’t feel that ping—that enormous longing—she’d always dreamed she’d have with the man she loved. And she’d craved it, desperately clung to the idea of it, trying to force it. After a while, she’d given up, assuming she’d expected too much. That she’d bought into the whole I’ve-never-felt-this-way routine because the truth was, she had felt that way before.
And it was nothing special.
So sex became just sex. Nothing too terribly exciting and certainly nothing she couldn’t live without.
Until now.
With Hawk, she didn’t feel desperate. Or clingy. Or obsessed. Not at all. When near him she was safe and happy.