by AJ Nuest
Since the day she’d joined Dirty Deeds, the one thing she’d appreciated more than anything was the unqualified acceptance she’d been shown from every other member of the team…despite whatever baggage she’d lugged with her through the door. God knew, they all had their secrets. Hard things they’d experienced. Private things no one asked about or cared to relive in an open forum.
She finally settled on Ben and lifted a brow in warning. And she was pretty damn sure that included everyone in the room. “Listen, Casper, if it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to answ—”
“No, it’s okay.” He glanced at her through his thick, curly lashes, tacking on a sly wink as if he knew holding back would only make everything worse. “Believe it or not, the good ol’ US of A came to my rescue. A young sergeant by the name of Owen Blake hauled me outta there when his patrol was ordered to infiltrate and disband the camp. He pulled me out of the pit and got me to a ʼcopter, but it was several days before I came to in a London hospital. Or so I was told.” Lifting his hand from his pocket, he ran his palm over the shaved black hair hugging his scalp, around his nape to grip the thick tendon riding the top of his shoulder. “I tried to find him afterward. Hell, I had enough time on my hands during the months it took the doctors to rebuild my face I thought maybe I could do something to show my thanks. Even if that just meant shaking the guy’s hand. But, after being stonewalled for nearly a year, I finally found out his squad never made it back to the base.” Casper released his shoulder to cross his arms, zeroing in on Ben. “As for what I’ve been doing ever since, I’m not really sure that’s any of your business.”
There. Satisfied? Tanner aimed a sugar-coated smile at Ben even as a muscle ticked in his temple. And look at that. Without any cajoling, Casper had filled in the blanks and no one had been forced break out the blows.
Heck, it even made sense Casper had kept his lip zipped about his recent activities. Until he was sure Ben could be trusted, the last thing he would do was confess to running a scheme while standing face to face with the highest-ranking narcotics detective in the city.
But over and above all that was the sheer irony of how Ben had just fired a slug directly into his own damn foot. Once he found out where she was headed, he’d have no one to blame but himself.
She turned toward Casper and her knees nearly buckled as he licked his full bottom lip. Hot damn, the guy was a tempting piece of eye candy. One that had every part of her weeping with the same delicious ache. “So, you have experience tracking down stolen arms?”
Her stomach flipped at the spark of understanding in his eyes. He returned her smile as Ben sputtered and stomped forward.
God, this was so good, she couldn’t wait. “Then, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d love it if you’d consider consulting with me on my case.”
Chapter 3
“Tanner, wait.”
No. This couldn’t be happening. How, in the course of a single half hour, had things gone from complicated to a mind-blowing clusterfuck way, way, way beyond anything Ben could’ve ever imagined? “Dammit, woman, I wasn’t done talking.”
Good Christ in Heaven, give him strength. She didn’t have the first clue what she’d just done.
Five feet in front of him, the object of his constant aggravation straight-armed the door to the kitchen, the side of her gym bag bumping her hip as she disappeared from view.
And would it be asking too much for her to put some damn clothes on? He stretched his legs past the front hallway staircase and the momentum of the door smacked his palm as he reversed the swing to catch up. Since the moment he’d hit the library, the way those stretchy shorts clung to her ass had been playing a hazardous game of Russian Roulette in his head.
The flash of her white sneaker caught his eye as it darted past the bottom edge of the basement door. Without missing a step, he swept his leather jacket off the kitchen island and rounded the end for the stairs.
One glance at those toned thighs topping her mile-long legs, and all the circuits in his brain had been scrambled. Two seconds later, and he’d been trapped in some weird telepathic war with her, wondering when in the hell Walt Disney had put Snow White on steroids.
The thick soles of his boots pounded down the steps as she hopped the last few risers and strode out of eyeshot down the hall. And now this. Wedging him smack-dab in the middle of a lose-lose with that stunt she’d just pulled. Forcing his hand when he already hovered two degrees away from snapping. From top to bottom, Tanner Jones was a never-ending list of contradictions that could make a sane man question if he knew his own name.
His heel hit the basement floor, and Ben strode toward where she’d paused before the side entrance to the garage, tapping her four-digit access code into the lock. “Hold it right there.”
“Or what? You’ll have me arrested?”
Exhibit number one. Any woman with that much contempt in her voice shouldn’t be walking around with skin that came off creamier than a farm-fresh pitcher of milk. Except for the backs of her hands, of course, where a series of red welts rode her knuckles over the way she’d been duking it out with his recruits.
Same when it came to that black belt she held in smiling. Ben lengthened his stride to catch up. It was completely irrational that any female should be granted the kind of power she could wield with one simple grin.
He’d seen the way her lips could trip a guy up. Had been the victim of how easily they could make any red-blooded male lose his focus. Only to slide from innocent to wicked so damn fast, her mouth should’ve been registered as a lethal weapon.
A series of pneumatic thunks echoed down the hallway, and she fired an evil squint at him over her shoulder. Twisting the knob, she shoved against the resistance of the final bolt and slipped inside the garage.
His molars pulverized a layer of enamel as he jogged the remaining distance, only so he could meet the closing snick of the hasp a hair too late.
Jesus, the woman had a way of pushing his buttons that bordered on psychic. Filling his lungs, he jabbed his personal combination into the panel and waited for the lock to reset.
Yes, he’d shot down that trumped up bullshit she’d concocted of inviting Adder to consult on the case. And yes, he’d done in front of everyone even when he’d known the consequences would likely have him flipping up the conference table so he could take a running dive for cover behind the top.
But she’d left him no choice.
A flick of his wrist as the bolts retracted, and he stormed into the garage. There was no way in hell was he about to let that greasy snake anywhere within ten feet of her. And just to pump a few extra ounces of acid into his gut, it was one-hundred percent, hands down, guaran-damn-teed, she’d known exactly how bad her suggestion would piss him off.
They’d already been down this road, and standing around with his thumb up his ass while she hatched some cockamamie idea that would lead her straight into enemy territory was the last thing he could do.
The chest-vibrating slam of the door ricocheted off the two-dozen buffed-to-a-shine vehicles as he came to a stop near the center aisle. It was better him than her. Lame as that excuse might sound, it was the only one he had.
Stepping in, drawing Adder’s attention away from her if only for a few precious moments had been the right move. Even though she’d set the wheels in motion on purpose. Even though asking Adder to throw his hat in the ring insinuated she had zero confidence Ben could do his damn job. And even though blowing his stack had landed him in dead center in the cross hairs of that bastard’s scope.
It was better him than her. “I don’t trust him.”
She halted halfway toward the tall, narrow cabinets lining the back wall, and two heavy heartbeats thudded in his chest before she pivoted to face him. “You’re kidding.” A rapid blink of her lashes, and she shook her head as if he’d just told her glitter shot out of his ass every time he farted. “Gee, Ben, what should’ve been my first clue? When you said over my dead body or that part about how it w
ould be a cold day in hell?”
Fine. He’d be the last to argue he could’ve done a better job of deflecting. But hiding his disgust for lying sacks of shit had never been high on his list of priorities. In fact, he didn’t really give a flying fuck whether or not he could fake it as well as everyone else.
Being on the receiving end of deceit was what mattered. Knowing how to spot the difference despite the details involved. And when it came to sniffing out the truth, there wasn’t a single person on the team who could outdo his expertise in that arena. He’d had too much experience to come in second place. “Good. Hopefully, you weren’t the only one who noticed.”
Tossing her head with a huff that earned him the Boy Scout badge of derision, she marched toward the third cabinet off the end and wrenched open the door. “Fat chance of that happening with the way you came in swinging. You’re about as subtle as an exploding cigar.”
Always, always with the needling sarcasm. A grumble crept up the back of his throat.
Reaching inside the closet, she jerked a pair of black leather pants off the hook and shook them in her balled fist. “You had absolutely no right to make that decision. None. Trey’s case is mine, and I decide who is and isn’t involved.”
Jesus H. Christ. What was so goddamn horrible about wanting to make sure she saw tomorrow? Or next month, or the next fifty years?
It wasn’t like he’d offended anyone. If Adder was the same vicious son of a bitch Ben suspected he was, the asshole had heard worse. Way, way worse, considering the cutthroat nature of his profession, and which, as if he needed the reminder, was exactly where everything went tits up.
Until he could either confirm or deny Adder was one of history’s most notorious gunrunners, the line Ben was dancing had shrunk down to the honed edge of the Bowie blade stuck in his boot. He said too much and Tanner could be slogging through the same knee-deep shit as him. Too little, and—Christ. She could end up tossed in the bottom of a pit with all the other innocent victims that bastard had murdered.
“He’s lying, Tanner. I’d stake my reputation on it.” There was just something all too familiar about Casper Addison. Something that twisted the shit out of Ben’s gut. The guy’s mannerisms. The way he cocked his head.
And facial reconstruction surgery? Just how brain dead did Adder think they were? “That scar on his upper left arm? That’s not from shrapnel, or a bullet wound, or anything else he supposedly went through.” Same location as the one Ben had seen. Same size and shape. Not to mention, it seemed pretty damn convenient that mottled skin had been so disfigured. “The guy had a tattoo removed.”
“Oh my God, call in the SWAT team. Casper changed his mind about a tat.” Worn leather cracked through the air as she snapped the wrinkles from her pants. “Alarming as you may find that to be, excuse me if I don’t flip out and have a panic attack over here.” Holding the waistband open in front of her knees, she toed off her sneakers and jammed her foot into the leg. “You could’ve asked him, you know. You could’ve just asked him and cleared up the issue without causing any fuss. But, no, here’s a great idea. Let’s jump to all sorts of negative conclusions just like you always do. God, I can’t even imagine what was going through his head. Did it ever occur to you that Casper didn’t have to come here? That he could’ve easily contacted Xander and worked out the particulars of his inheritance over the phone? So why, Ben? Why would he show up here unless it was to see everyone? Reconnect with his friends?”
Good point. Unless, of course, Adder was looking to instigate some sort of squatter’s rights on his portion of the manor.
Yeah, and his earlier suggestion about her putting some clothes on? Ben squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his chin to his chest. A beat passed before he reconsidered and peeked at her through the lashes of his right eye.
Getting dressed or undressed, no guy who wasn’t ready to sign his soul over to the devil should be within viewing range of the woman while she was wriggling a tight stretch of black leather up those thighs. Or hips. She hopped around on her toes, working the metal snap in front of her flat stomach, and he internally groaned. Or the curves of that non-stop, twenty-four-year-old ass.
“So, what are you saying? You don’t believe me?” The outcome of that jab to the throat was nowhere near acceptable.
As it was, coming up with the proof to confirm Adder’s identity was bound to be trickier than defusing the five-second countdown on a nuclear bomb. He’d done one helluva job camouflaging his appearance. Made sure to cover his tracks, the same as he always had.
A harsh sigh parted Tanner’s lips as she yanked a matching leather jacket off a wire hanger. The metallic twang rode the strain of Ben’s nerves, and he crossed his arms around his own damn jacket as she grabbed a set of scuffed, black biker boots off the bottom shelf.
“Of course, I believe you. At the very least, I believe you believe it.” She wrestled her gym bag into the locker, tossed her sneakers inside and slammed the door. “But isn’t that exactly the point?”
He scowled. What in the hell was she yammering on about now?
A glance at him as she shrugged the jacket onto her shoulders, and she rolled her eyes with enough emphasis, he had zero doubts she’d glimpsed the inside of her skull. “You’re asking me to trust you. To trust your judgment without any hesitation whatsoever.”
And that was a problem? “Yeah, so?”
Her caustic laugh slid between his ribs like a knife. Dark hair swinging, she leaned down to snatch a pair of socks from inside the boots, lifting first one knee and then the other in some weird yoga stork move as she tugged them onto her feet. Cranking upright, she propped her hands on her hips and searched his gaze, and he dug in his heels against the impulse to reach forward and tuck those slippery strands behind her ear. “I just think it’s pretty ballsy of you to ask me that when you’ve never once trusted mine.”
His knees snapped in place with such force, he flinched.
Now hold on just a damn second. Anger detonated like a hollow casing in his chest and, disobeying a direct order, his foot clomped forward.
He did trust her. Especially when it came to her loyalty for the team. He wouldn’t be standing here trying to convince her Adder was trouble if he didn’t.
It was the way she consistently rattled the dice with her own safety that made him crazy. Always volunteering to dive headfirst into danger. Acting like any threat they faced could be used as a measuring stick to advance her career. And to make matters worse, the woman had enough beauty, brains and guts she could easily get mixed up in whatever trouble she so chose.
There was no way he could keep his mouth shut when she pulled that crap. From the first second he’d looked into her eyes, he knew she deserved better than that.
Shoving his other foot forward, he lowered his arms and planted his hands on his hips. But the woman had another think coming if she thought she could twist him around her pinkie that easily. He knew what she was doing, setting him up for the ol’ Dirty Deeds bait and switch. And he wasn’t about to stand here and let her accuse him of slapping down a bunch of undeserved rejection as if she had no control over her actions.
There was a bigger picture in play, and before he fell victim to any Dirty Deeds bullshit, the angel-faced vixen needed to take a serious step back.
“You wanna know what I trust?” He’d seen what could happen. With his own two eyes. Avoiding mistakes didn’t matter. Winning medals didn’t count for shit. Not after all the hours he’d spent scrubbing the blood off his hands of those who were too damn young to go before their time. “It’s that all of us only get so many chances.”
The color drained from her face—first time he’d ever witnessed that miracle in action—and she turned her head a few degrees left to study him out of the corner of her eye. “Why would you say that to me?”
Damn. Whatever bullseye he’d hit, the resulting blast was loud enough he half-expected a chain reaction to trigger all twenty-four car alarms in the room. But it didn’t ma
tter. The upshot was, he’d finally gotten her attention and, wonders never ceased, she actually seemed ready to listen.
Shuffling his jacket around, he reached inside the outer pocket and worked the sign-up sheet he’d ripped off the logistics room bulletin board past the zipper. “This.” He flicked his wrist to straighten the creases, checking to make sure he wasn’t holding the list upside down. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. How long do you think something like this can go on before your luck runs out?”
A frown drew her brows together, and she jammed her feet into those combat ass kickers before closing in on him with tread-wearing heel-toe shuffle. Tugging the sheet from between his fingers, she ran her gaze down the column of scratched-out names, smirked and snorted loud enough, her head jerked on her shoulders. “Kill Bill Sign-Up Sheet? That’s awesome.”
Awesome? Labeling her as some sword-toting Uma Thurman knock-off was awesome?
Not.
She offered the list back to him and he squinted but didn’t take it. Uh-uh. She’d just walked directly into his sights, and for whatever reason she’d been on this ridiculous crusade, the woman was done.
A grunt blurted past his lips as she smacked the sheet to his chest. “As much as I would love to be the one responsible for tying your shorts in a knot, this wasn’t my doing.” A shove for emphasis, and the paper fluttered to the floor as she rounded his side. “But I’d be happy to save you a spot in line with the complaint department.”
Wait. The soles of his boots squeaked against the concrete as he spun and tracked her steps across the garage. She was no happier about the daily grudge match than he was?
He frowned. But if she wasn’t the one responsible for rounding up his recruits, then who the hell had set up the contest? Captain D’Avella was an automatic out. She never would’ve endorsed involving a civilian in something so risky. And if anyone had asked Molly, his AV Tech would’ve checked with him first.