by Billi Jean
“This place is big, right? I counted six buildings, but only one floor down? Why? That seems odd. I’d have this place pegged for more.”
He had a point. It was huge. But there was a lot of upper space not really used efficiently. Is he right? Is there more here, hidden?
“Okay, so we go down,” she agreed.
“That’s it. I promise once you go down, you’ll never want to come up.”
“Jerk! Can you be serious?” she demanded, getting the blow job reference a second too late to sound anything but silly.
“Jerk? That’s all I get?” he laughed. “Did the phone call cause this much brain damage?”
“The phone call was to tell me to keep you out of Trouble’s hair, something I find slightly amazing. Who messes with Trouble?” she muttered, eyeing him to see he was scratching his blond head lazily with his attention on her breasts. Well, that was an answer.
Rick Kincaid.
She’d done a little bit of digging on him after the warehouse. Who wouldn’t? He was a trained SEAL. He’d spent time cross-training with some other badass countries, then been hand-picked to be on some secret mission that brought in rogue CIA agents. Then he’d gone off the charts—or records—until he’d shown up at the night club where she’d been captured—or appeared to have been captured—in London.
The memory made her unhappy. She stood and said, “If you’re going to drive me nuts, we might as well do it while we do check out your crazy idea. Who knows, maybe it will work.”
For some reason, instead of making him happy, he scowled and examined her face again like he had before. Only this time she doubted he was going to say anything as sweet.
“You shouldn’t be crying over Trouble not wanting you near everyone,” he said, shocking her. “Why would she? She cares for you, obviously, so she wants you out of the way so people forget what you’ve done.”
“What I’ve done.” She leaned back against the computer table and mimicked his crossed arms and lazy posture. Kincaid being nice irritated her. “Do you have any idea what you’re talking about? What I’ve done and who I’ve betrayed? You think Markee was the only one? That his father was the only immortal—or human—I watched while they suffered and I did nothing?” she asked. “Take a look around you. I did this. Destroyed this room. That was why I knew this computer worked, and why I knew those”—she flung her hand at the ones on her left—“didn’t.”
Kincaid’s expression tightened, and he exhaled heavily. “I see. And you think now is the time to share your story.”
“No!” She stood and straightened her irritating backpack straps. Being immortal, she had thought she pain would be somewhat dulled, or at least small things wouldn’t bother her. The straps were digging into her arms for some reason. When she lifted her head, he was simply waiting with his arms crossed, as if he’d just asked his question.
Irritating!
“In your dreams, mister. Why would I share something that personal with you?”
“Why not? I’m a good guy,” he said, clearly believing his own bullshit.
“Exactly,” she muttered. “Do you have one of those stun guns for me, Spock, because I think I might need one.”
“Sweet Star Trek reference, but no, sadly, you and guns don’t fit into my plan.”
“Oh, great. Not only am I stuck with a mere mortal, but a chauvinistic caveman?” she muttered, studying the map. If they were hiking, she wanted to get an idea of where.
Kincaid grunted, sounding pretty hot, since he did it practically in her ear.
“Kincaid, back up! Now, where are we going? Just follow their doggie footprints?”
He didn’t back up, he moved closer and leaned into her shoulder, grunting again when she elbowed him, but not getting the hint. She sat back down to limit the heat of his body sizzling a path down hers. Her stomach already trembled with him so close. No way was she getting all hot and bothered over the annoying man—or more hot and bothered. But, holy moly, he smelled good. He had before, too, when he’d fallen on top of her at her house. Like spice and something only he possessed.
“Well? I thought you were Mr. I Know What We’re Doing?”
“I am. First.” He swirled her chair around. She really needed to remember this the next time he was near a chair with wheels.
“We do this.” He took her lips in a fast, but no less devastating, kiss.
It had been so long, so very, very long since she’d really kissed a man. She didn’t even fight him, since apparently she wasn’t strong enough to. Warmth, such a sweet, achingly perfect feeling, washed over her and scared her.
Tears threatened to come closer, but thankfully, Kincaid held the back of her head gently, but firmly, and tilted his so that they meshed with startling perfection into a full out passionate kiss.
The move erased everything but him. His lips were amazingly soft, and his hot tongue dove in and out with such skill, not rapid and hard, but with a slow, lazy exploration, he woke every inch of her as if he were licking along her body, not simply kissing her lips.
He kissed her like she’d never dreamed a man really would—passionately—so single-mindedly she forgot her messed-up face, her misery and everything else but him. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, surprising her since he’d made it obvious he liked her breasts. Most men dove right in, groping her until they worked themselves into a disappointingly quick burst of passion.
Kincaid focused on her mouth to the exclusion of all else.
It was the first time anyone had, and the effect filled her with enough heat to melt the room, let alone erase the chill from the air.
Too soon, in her opinion, he eased his lips from hers and pulled away to search her damaged face for something. She wasn’t sure what, since she couldn’t think of a single thing besides the fact that for a tough military guy, he had full, warm lips, and his short blond hair was superfine and silky in her fingers.
“Second, we go over our—”
“Wait one minute,” she cried and plastered her hands on his chest, gripped his sweater and shook the material—not him, she noticed—and tried not to be impressed with how hot that was. “I am not a to-do list.”
He leaned back, hands on her chair arms, and tipped his head then peered at her sideways, with his eyebrows down. A grin split his handsome face. She swore her nipples were more thrilled by that sexy glower than she was.
Oh come on, really? He’s going to play that card?
She hit him, hard, right on his super-hot pectoral.
He winced, but his grin grew. He captured her hand and kissed her fingers. “I like a woman with spice. That’s good. Now, no, you’re not on a to-do list. Where does this stuff come from? Do you read one of those girly magazines?” he demanded suspiciously.
“What? No!” She’d deny ever owning a Cosmopolitan in her life to anyone, even the recycling guys.
“Oh, you do… You most certainly do,” he said, more to her breasts than her. “Now, we need to decide what gear we need, prepare for sleeping outdoors—”
“Kincaid, I am not sleeping outdoors in the winter.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Oh? What do you suggest, oh mighty immortal with attitude?”
“Seriously, I think I dug up info on the wrong man. Is your full name Richard Evan Kincaid? Born in Chicago, raised by your folks until you split and joined the Navy? SEAL, then some badass-under-the-radar acronym I can’t remember?”
“You did some research on me?” he asked, as if he was pleased as shit by that.
“Don’t flatter yourself, no,” she lied. “Here’s what we do,” she said, doing her impersonation of taking charge. “We hike as far as your mortal legs will go, then I gate us to my pad for a rest, then back to the same spot, then hike, again until your mortal legs give out, then—”
“Shit, no. We check to see if there are snowmobiles, was what I had in mind, and go after them,” he suggested. “How far could they have gotten? No gating home. Save the juice for when we really need
it.”
Juice?
She thought about the plan and saw no holes, so kept her sarcasm down. “What about the water?” she asked, pointing to the river close by.
“It will be frozen. Don’t worry,” he said.
“And if it isn’t?”
“You mean to tell me, oh mighty immortal computer wizard, you don’t have a way to get around it by tracking them somehow with that stunning mind of yours?”
Well, yeah, if he puts it that way.
“Smart-ass,” she grumbled, since it was his fault her hardwiring wasn’t connecting properly. His hair was all tousled—from her fingers—and she swore she could now taste him as well as smell him.
Why did I let him kiss you?
“I am smart and I’ve heard my ass is pretty fine.”
That was why. He didn’t ask. He just… He just does that thing and I’m all over him.
So, whatever that is, I need to stay away from it.
“I see why Trouble doesn’t like you. You’re not shy with your opinions. You’re a loudmouth. You don’t take things seriously, and you stare at a woman’s breasts more than her face.”
“I stare at your face as much as your breasts, but if you prefer it when I stare at your bre—”
“I prefer,” she stressed and shot out of her chair, “you don’t kiss me. This is a team. We don’t mix business with”—she waved between them—“that stuff. So, you and I should get moving,” she said, walking to the door, because standing still with him staring at her like she’d lost her mind over saying not to kiss her, wasn’t helping. “I need some winter gear, I guess.”
“Why?” he asked, but walked out of the room with her. She headed toward the locker rooms.
“Are you limping?” he asked sharply.
She blinked and focused on him, then his question. She had been limping. Her feet were killing her. “What? No.”
He crossed his arms at her lie and tilted his head, eyeing her legs, then skimmed her hands. She fisted them, unable not to.
“They still hurt?” he asked. He had to be guessing, but she knew ignoring him would do no good.
“Yes.”
“How bad?”
“I won’t hold us back. How’s that?” she snapped.
“I didn’t think you would. Now, how badly do they hurt?”
“Not bad,” she lied.
The boots felt as if nails were digging into her feet. She thought she might be bleeding, too, but that wasn’t something she’d share. Her hands tingled, but her face ached. Maybe from talking. Just flexing her cheek was painful, so yeah, talking had to be adding to the overall ache.
“All right, noted. If it gets worse, I want to know. We passed a garage, didn’t we?”
“Yeah, we did.”
“I spotted a helicopter. We could—”
“We aren’t taking a helicopter,” she warned. She suddenly remembered what they did have in the garages. They have better anyway,” she offered, hoping that would pacify him. “They have snow vehicles.” She gestured to the locker room. ”We can change and get what we need here, then head out.” She matched words to movements and led him inside. The lights went on automatically.
Kincaid whistled. “Spare no expense, huh? Other one like this, too?”
“Yeah with the added bonus of a ruined castle with a dungeon all set up to hold immortals.”
“You’re joking,” he spluttered, then shook his head when she simply kept going through the jackets to find one small enough. She found an extra small, and Kincaid handed her a pair of BDU winter camo snow pants, size extra small, too, then tossed a pair of socks at her head.
She caught them and held back the grumble—or the laugh. She wasn’t sure what to think or feel. Confusing, but that was going to be life for a while.
He had found the same gear for himself, along with a couple of pairs of the pants, she assumed in a larger size, considering what he was going to stuff in them. For a normal-sized guy, he was certainly blessed in the package department. He could be five eleven, maybe even six foot, six foot one, but if she stood on tiptoe, she could kiss him, if she pulled his head down. But maybe that was because he was always standing near her, legs spread and arms crossed. If he stood straighter, she might have trouble, but—
Mind off Kincaid. Mind off kissing Kincaid. Mind off Kincaid’s package. Mind off him!
But when she stopped, her mind journeyed to other, much worse, topics.
Like how many immortals she had watched suffer and done nothing about.
The club in London.
She could have freed those people instead of doing as directed and getting captured. She’d been there. She could have done more. Maybe even stopped the very men they were now trying to save from being harmed in the first place. She’d known they were watching the club. She’d known they were focused on the immortals in particular. She could have cut their surveillance, then and there. They’d never have been able to get their act together enough to send men in that club, nor gotten noticed by the immortals on the council. They’d never have gone in search of more immortals and maybe never ended up in Washington, tortured and who knew where now.
For lack of ice water to still her arousal, her thoughts acted like a pretty good substitute. She concentrated on that and how much Rick would like her once he discovered she’d been his enemy much longer than she’d been his teammate.
She took her gear and headed for the bathroom. “I’ll change and meet you back out here in a few—or up top.”
“Shy?”
“No, I just don’t need an audience.”
“Spoil the fun, sure, no problem. I’ll be at that garage if you take too long, Sparky.”
“Meet you there, then,” she said, opening and shutting the bathroom door.
Keep him away. Please, just keep him away so I don’t hurt another person.
Lucifer had set her free. At least that’s what Aubrey had assumed. But Hunter wasn’t so sure. Misery saturated her, the stench of it rising from her pores like bad alcohol the morning after one hell of a binge.
Satan would love to see this—me—now.
The only person who wants near me is a human who really only wants his friends back, and maybe to get his groove on while he does. Then he’ll get as far away from me as fast as he can.
I’ll be left, alone, but really, what did I ever expect? That people would understand why I did what I did?
Who? Jaxon? Joey? Torment? Trouble? Moon? Agni? Markee?
The list was filled with people she knew, people who had all suffered and carried on. People who were strong, honorable, and brave and more telling, didn’t sell their souls to the devil to find a quick way to control their power. They learned how to do so through time and pain, and for some, dangerous attempts at mastery. They didn’t take a short cut because they feared their power too much. They faced it, head-on.
She stared at her face in the mirror above the sink and shuddered.
How does Kincaid even look at me?
The silvery scar wasn’t small, it encompassed half her face—or near enough. The eeriest part was her milky left eye. Or maybe the weirdest part was her lips. Her mouth was completely unscathed, but pale. Now both were chalky white, a color that simply didn’t fit the macabre mask.
She turned to the side and grimaced. I’m hideous. A sob broke free at the gruesome sight. Covering her eyes, she breathed deeply, trying to hold herself together. She’d have to face everyone like this.
That horrifying thought made her want to vomit. It terrified her. The mystery of what Lucifer had done to her in hell took a back seat compared to that. Even the way her face paled in comparison.
But her fear for what more the Lord of Lies would do to her—and why he’d set her loose, here on Earth—won out over the rest.
She stifled a choked laugh. I’m comparing what I fear the most.
Lunatic. I’m a lunatic.
But she knew, absolutely knew, Lucifer wasn’t done with her. No way.
>
I have to stay away from Kincaid. I have to or he’ll get hurt.
Find his men. Part ways. End of story.
Taking a steadying breath, she dropped her hands, but at the sight of herself in the mirror, she hung her head, unable to stand her reflection.
Find his men, get away from him.
Simple.
Chapter Seven
Kincaid studied his sexy travel buddy and knew the alone time had been too long. She’d cried again. He wasn’t dumb, and he also wasn’t going to comment on it.
This time.
There was a lot to admire about Hunter. There was a lot to worry about too, he admitted. She was one tightly wound bundle of despair.
The face got to her.
No shit. Women love their looks. Or at least liked them unblemished by a scar that divided their face in half, he guessed.
He studied her as she tried to fix her backpack and still didn’t find her any less pretty. If anything, he got a little more of her to like. She might not— hell, who I’m I kidding? —she would never see it that way. But she was a girl, and girls thought differently. He liked that she’d gone through hell and survived.
What guy wouldn’t think that’s fucking unbelievably hot?
Still, if her face made her this unhappy, it would have been nice for her to find a way to get rid of the scar.
He tacked that idea on to the million others he wanted to talk to her about and decided to talk shop instead. There was a helicopter here, a top of the line one, but there were also lines of snow vehicles his hands literally itched to try out.
“So, this is what you mean by other vehicles?” he asked, more than a little envious of the line of hybrid snow off-road four wheelers. They had compartments for the driver and a passenger so Hunter wouldn’t have to be out in the wind, which would be perfect. But more, they were sweetest hunks of masculine-sized metal he’d ever seen.
“You like them, don’t you?” Hunter asked, distracted by her backpack but still perceptive enough to nail him in less than a second.
“You think?” he said, more than willing to admit defeat in the area of his manly interests. He liked hot rods. Maybe that was one reason no matter what he’d read on Hunter, or heard, he still wanted to give her a chance. She was one hot rod of a woman.