Renegade (Phoenix Rising)

by Blake, Brynley

  “Do you know his exact words? Did he tell you? Do you recall?” I shoot the questions off rapid-fire.

  “Mr. Kinkaid, the poor woman lost her husband. Stop badgering her.”

  I lift an eyebrow at Gemma. “Mr. Kinkaid?”

  She looks at me in surprise and then smiles, slow and sexy. “I’m sorry. Sir.”

  It takes some serious effort not to laugh out loud. I’d only tried to remind her of my rank to make the reason for our visit believable, but her misunderstanding makes me inordinately pleased. My cock seems to like it too. “It’s Lieutenant, not mister, but sir will work just fine for you, Ms. Ward. In fact, it seems to roll off your tongue naturally.”

  Her eyes dance with amusement, and I think again how much I love making Gemma smile. Connie’s voice startles me. Somehow, I’d gotten so wrapped up in that exchange with Gemma, I’d completely forgotten why we were here.

  “He did tell me, and I do recall. Steve committed it to memory so he could relay her brother’s exact dying message. He felt like it was the least he could do. Liam Prescott said, ‘I want my sister to know for sure exactly what kind of man I am.’”

  “‘Know for sure…’” I echo her words. What did that mean?

  Connie continues. “The necklace had a unique design on it. Steve spent considerable time trying to find out what it was when he returned to the States. It’s a symbol for valor, or bravery. I’m sure his sister knew he was a hero without a necklace, but it’s clear he wanted her to have it to remember he died a hero.”

  I’m silent, mulling over her words. The easy explanation is he wanted her to know he was brave. But there’s something about Liam’s choice of words…

  I shake my head. I’ll have to think this through more later. Right now, I need to know everything Dr. Morris’s widow can tell me that might indicate why someone’s trying to kill McKenzie. And there’s something about her story that’s niggling at the back of my mind.

  “Mrs. Morris, why did the CIA want to talk to your husband after he got back home?”

  Her eyes dart toward her son nervously. “Standard practice, I assume. Steve told me that the team that rescued him was mostly Navy SEALs, but the rescue had been coordinated by the CIA, and there was a CIA operative there that night.”

  I remember him. He was the one who pushed the team to follow the insurgents across the border into Pakistan.

  “What did he look like, the guy with the CIA who came to talk to your husband?”

  “I don’t remember a lot. He was lean and muscular, and he had short, dark hair and one of those northeastern accents that sounds like he’s holding his nose when he talks.”

  The hairs are standing up on the back of my neck, and I know what I’m about to do is risky, but I always trust my gut.

  “Mrs. Morris, I was part of the SEAL team that rescued your husband.” Her eyes widen. “Liam Prescott was like a brother to me. He was more than a brother. I promised him I would keep his sister safe if anything ever happened to him. Now someone is trying to kill her, but I don’t know why. I was the SEAL that your husband talked to, right before the explosion that killed Liam. I couldn’t save Liam, but I can still save McKenzie. If there is something you’re not telling me, even if it seems irrelevant, I would be forever indebted to you if you would tell me now.”

  Gemma is looking at me wide-eyed, and I give her a wink to reassure her I know what I’m doing.

  Connie turns to her son. “John, why don’t you and Candace go to the market and pick up some chicken for dinner? I have a sudden hankering to make some fried chicken.”

  “But…”

  Connie stops her son with an upheld hand. “John, I appreciate your concern, but I am a grown woman. I know what I’m doing, and I’m asking you to please give me a few moments alone with Lieutenant Kinkaid and Ms. Ward.” Her son and his wife reluctantly leave. As soon as the door closes, she says softly, “Please understand. Steve was very shaken by the whole ordeal. He had trouble sleeping; he had nightmares and flashbacks. It was actually the CIA agent who visited who told us that he was clearly suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and suggested I take him to see a psychologist. I looked up the symptoms, and there’s no doubt that he was. I want you to know that. The agent told me that it wasn’t uncommon for him to be hazy in his description of what happened during the rescue, or to not remember the events correctly.”

  “I understand war, Mrs. Morris.”

  “Yes, I suppose you do,” she says quietly. She fixes steady blue eyes on me, and I realize she is tougher than she looks. “Steve said the CIA agent in the hut shot Lieutenant Commander Prescott.”

  “Accidentally?” Gemma interjects, her eyes wide.

  Mrs. Morris shakes her head. “It was just the three of them in the room. He was adamant that it wasn’t an accident…that the CIA operative shot the SEAL at close range, and then left. Steve stayed and tried to stanch the blood flow, until someone threw an explosive into the room, and Mr. Prescott, or whatever his title is, insisted he leave. Your friend saved my husband’s life. I’ve read the news stories. I know he wasn’t supposed to cross the border into Pakistan, and that the government denies it even happened. I don’t know if it really happened that way or not. I guess we never will.”

  “Did your husband tell the CIA agent about this when they came to see him after he returned home?”

  “He did. The agent said they would look into it, but he took me aside before he left and told me that Steve was most likely suffering from PTSD. Then Steve was killed in a random car accident, and it became a moot point.”

  “How long after the CIA agent visited was your husband’s accident?” I ask casually.

  “Let’s see…he came on a Wednesday, just a few days before you girls came.” She nods toward Gemma. “You and your friend came the following Saturday. Steve died later that day. I remember being so grateful that he got to see your friend before he died. It was so important to him that he give her the necklace in person and thank her for her brother’s sacrifice.”

  We spend another hour talking about her husband—his work in Mexico and Afghanistan, his ordeal with the terrorists—but there is nothing that would explain why the U.S. government decided to send in a highly trained special ops team that included Navy SEALs and a CIA operative to save him. But there’s one thing I’m convinced of. Steve Morris was telling the truth about the CIA agent shooting Liam, and it got him killed. And whoever’s behind it thinks McKenzie knows too. I’ve got to find the necklace and the guns before it’s too late.

  “You want to stop for dinner before we get back to the hotel?” I let my hand brush over Gemma’s long, jeans-clad leg as I turn to talk to her at a stoplight. While I can’t wait to get my hands on her, I also know that once we get to the hotel, I’m not going to want to leave. I need to process everything we learned this afternoon before I can fully devote myself to her. And I intend to savor every moment of my last night alone with her.

  “What time is it?” She pulls her phone out of her back pocket and then looks up at me. “McKenzie has texted me three times. She says Noah needs to talk to you ASAP.”

  I gun the engine as the light turns green. “I guess that settles it.”

  Back in our room, Gemma pours us each a glass of wine as I conference in McKenzie and Noah and put the phone on speaker. After the initial pleasantries—mostly between the girls, who act like they haven’t talked to each other in ten years instead of four weeks—Noah tells me their news.

  “We’ve been hanging out here trying to find out if anyone else saw Liam, and yesterday we hit pay dirt. Some local guy who takes people out occasionally to dive a less accessible part of the reef agreed to take us, and it turns out he took Liam and another guy diving a few weeks before Liam died. He remembered a lot about them, and when McKenzie told him she was his sister and he’d died in the line of duty, he agreed to tell us everything he knew.

  “You and Liam were close, right, Walker?” Noah asks me.

 
“Like brothers.”

  “Did you know all of his friends?”

  “Most of them. The team hung out together most of the time. Of course, some of the guys have families they spend time with when they’re home. Why?”

  “Liam was here with a guy I don’t think I know,” McKenzie interjects. “I thought maybe you might. He said he was on the tall side, brown hair, hazel eyes, or maybe blue, he couldn’t remember.” She sighs. “Not much to go on, I know. The dive master didn’t know his name—both he and Liam paid for everything in cash—but Liam’s friend did give the dive instructor a card for a club he goes to in San Francisco a lot. It’s a…um…personal kind of club.”

  What the hell is she talking about? I glance at Gemma. She shrugs.

  “What kind of personal club? Like Sam’s or Costco?” I ask.

  I can hear Noah’s chuckle. “It’s a BDSM club called the Dominion. It’s in San Francisco.”

  I whistle softly. It’s about fucking time we got a break.

  “The Dominion is on Liam’s bucket list,” McKenzie chimes in excitedly. “I thought it was just because he wanted to visit a club like that. But it’s actually a clue! This guy must know where the guns are. And get this. No one uses their real name at this place. You know what his nickname is?”

  “The Cock of Gibraltar?” Gemma guesses.

  McKenzie giggles, and I realize I’ve missed that. She’s always borne the weight of the world. Noah is good for her. “Good guess, but no,” she says. “It’s Valor.”

  “Shut up!” Gemma says. “Isn’t that what the design on the necklace Dr. Morris gave you from Liam represents?”

  “Exactly. I feel like we’re getting close. We need to go to the club.”

  “We’re already on it,” I interject. “Since it was on Liam’s list and it’s in San Francisco, I made a contact and Gemma and I managed to get invited to a private party there tomorrow night. It’s their annual party, and usually only for members. If this Valor guy is going to be there, it will be tomorrow night.”

  “I can’t believe we’re finally starting to get close,” McKenzie says. “Maybe Noah and I should meet you in San Francisco…”

  “You can’t get here before the party,” I reason. “Just sit tight. We’ll know more then. The guns may be in Malaysia. Hopefully this Valor guy will be able to tell us.”

  We promise to call them as soon as we get back from the club, and then I ask what I’ve been waiting all night for. “McKenzie, the guy who kidnapped you from the hotel room when I went downstairs to get you some food. What did he look like?”

  “Dark hair. Body like a runner—kind of long and lean. He had kind of a creepy, dead vibe about him.”

  “Did he have any sort of accent?”

  “Yes. He had a definite northeast United States accent. Really nasally. Boston, maybe. Why?”

  “I’m pretty sure he visited Dr. Morris three days before you and Gemma did. Right before Dr. Morris died.”

  “Who is he?”

  “He’s a CIA operative, or at least, that’s what he’s claiming to be. And I think he killed Liam, or ordered another CIA operative to do it, and now he wants everyone who might know dead.”

  There’s silence on the other end as McKenzie tries to absorb what I’m saying. I relay everything Connie Morris told us to her and Noah.

  When I’m finished, Noah asks, “Why would the CIA want Liam dead?”

  “I don’t know. Hopefully Valor can tell us.”

  We say goodbye, and after we disconnect, Gemma pours us another glass of wine. “I think we need it after today,” she says, lifting her glass. “To discovering the unknown tomorrow night.”

  I clink my glass to hers and wink. “And tonight. Want to see what I bought on my shopping spree today?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gemma

  “Oh.”

  Walker has laid out everything he bought this morning on the bed, and I stare at the assortment of sex toys, my heart suddenly beating a little faster. I don’t know what exactly I’d been expecting—maybe a set of furry handcuffs, a feather, and a blindfold or something. Not this overwhelming variety of things, including something that looks suspiciously like a whip with multiple leather strands.

  “Worried?” Walker teases.

  “Of course not.” Now would be a good time for that whole pathological liar thing to pay off. I’m sort of terrified, but there’s no way I’m admitting that to him.

  “You should be,” he says, his voice taking on that deep, husky tenor that makes my stomach flip over.

  Walker has already turned off most of the lights, leaving the glittering city out the window to illuminate our last night alone together. Tomorrow night, we’ll be at the club, and the next day, I fly back to Charleston and Walker goes wherever the bucket list leads him next. It’s such a Walker thing to do—remembering to turn off the lights after I asked him to last night. He might come across as a tough badass, but inside he’s just a softie. He’s kind, considerate, and protective to a fault. At least when it comes to me.

  My fingers fumble with the button on my jeans. “Want me to strip?”

  He stops my hand with his, his fingers wrapping around mine. He moves our joined hands to the small of my back and pulls me to his chest as I tilt my head back to look up at him. “No. Tonight, I want to enjoy slowly undressing you myself. Tonight, I want you to know what it feels like to be truly owned.”

  I swallow hard. Owned by Walker. If only…

  I’m already feeling the pangs of heartbreak that I know are going to slam me when I say goodbye to him day after tomorrow. But I can’t say no, because I need to be ready for the Dominion tomorrow and Declan next week. And I don’t want to say no, because I’m falling in love with Walker, and there is nothing I want more than to feel like I belong to him, wholly and completely, for one wonderful night.

  Mistaking my silence for nervousness, he says, “I’ll tell you what everything is.”

  He points to two pairs of Velcro cuffs, one slightly smaller than the other. “These are pretty self-explanatory. One set is for your ankles and the other is for your wrists. I’m guessing these will be more comfortable than my belt.” He smiles at me, and I realize for about the millionth time how much I love the way his smile reaches his eyes. Something about the way he looks at me with those liquid brown eyes, and the laugh lines at the corners of them, always puts me at ease. Feeling more confident, I pick up something that looks like a collar with a black plastic ball attached in the middle.

  “What’s this?”

  “A ball gag. You think you feel helpless when you’re tied up? Imagine not being able to speak, either.”

  I don’t get it. “Why would anyone want this?”

  He runs his finger tenderly over my cheek. “Because it makes you rely on me even more. You have to have the utmost trust in me to allow me to silence you.”

  The thought of not being able to talk, of losing the ability to say no to him, is oddly erotic, although I don’t know why. It should feel degrading and wrong, not hot. I guess this bodes well for my time with Declan. I’m starting to think this submissive thing really is what I’ve been looking for all this time; I just didn’t know what to call it.

  “What about this?” I point to a metal circle that has four short black leather straps attached to it, making a cross. A metal ring is attached to the end of each strap.

  Walker runs his hand down my side. “Can you guess?”

  I shake my head.

  A faint smile crosses his lips. “I guess I’ll just have to demonstrate that one.”

  I pick up the whip-looking thing, running the thick leather strands through my fingers. “Is this a whip?”

  “A flogger,” he corrects. He winks at me. “I’m looking forward to using that one.”

  “I know you don’t want me to go to the club, but you don’t have to be so gleeful about trying to freak me out beforehand,” I say with a frown. Alt
hough to be honest, being able to see everything and touch it and talk about it with him beforehand makes it a lot less scary.

  He cups my cheek in his hand, and his lips graze mine softly. “I actually do want you to go to the club. But yes, I enjoy freaking you out, too. I want to push you to your limit. I want to know what will make you say no.”

  Why would he want me to say no? That doesn’t make any sense. “You want me to say my safe word?”

  He nods as he slowly unbuttons my blouse, easing it over my shoulders and then carefully laying it over a chair. “Mmm-hmm.” His voice is a low hum as he unclasps my bra and takes it off, too. The hotel room air is cool, and my nipples tighten under his hot gaze. He pulls on one, and I gasp. He smiles. There should seriously be an antidote for Walker Kinkaid’s slow and easy smile.

  He steps closer and unbuttons my jeans. “I like you a little off balance…” He drops to his knees in front of me and pulls my jeans and my underwear down around my ankles with one sharp tug. “…a little out of control,” he whispers.

  What were we talking about? My mind has gone blank.

  He kisses my sex—just a brush of his lips over my bare and sensitive outer lips—and my knees buckle slightly. “How far will you let me take you?” His voice is low and throaty.

  Anywhere and everywhere, as long as I’m with you.

  He pulls my jeans all the way off and stands, stripping off his T-shirt before he pulls me back over to the bed. “Let’s try something on. I want to make sure you’re appropriately outfitted and ready for the club.”

  Oh my God. How did I not think of that until now? I need an outfit for the club!

  “What am I going to wear? I didn’t bring a dress at all, much less anything that would be right for a sex club. Not that I know what that would be,” I add with a strangled laugh.

  He picks up what looks like a thick, black dog collar. “Let’s start with this.” He turns me around, lifts my hair, and fastens it around my neck. It feels…different. It’s thick and a little restrictive, forcing my chin up slightly and preventing me from lowering my head all the way. In some dim recess of my mind, I think I should object to wearing a collar like some sort of pet, but all I can think about is how erotic it is. Or maybe it’s just the way Walker’s looking at me with heat in his smoldering brown eyes.