Danger Mine: A Base Branch Novel

by Megan Mitcham

  Why would her former operative be in the States and why would he shadow her? She had no clue, but vowed to find the answers. She dialed Law’s cell and walked to the lit sidewalk while she waited the extra seconds it took to connect an international call.

  “There are only a handful of people I’d be happy to hear from at this hour and I’m sleeping with one of them.” Law’s voice held none of the grogginess of one pulled from slumber, but years of round-the-clock training had honed the ability to function at a moment’s notice. “Good thing you’re on the short list.”

  “Bloody hell! I know there’s a five-hour time difference between DC and London. I just forget that I’m not in London.”

  “You can do that? I mean, I haven’t been there, but I hear Americans are quite unforgettable.”

  “Ignoring the obvious is my coping mechanism for homesickness.”

  “Come home. Then you won’t be sick. Or surrounded by traitors.”

  As he did almost every time, he made reference to the former English colonials. Like he really cared. He just liked giving her a hard time. “Come on, wouldn’t you fight for what you believe in? Don’t you?”

  “I’d stay and fight. Fighting with an ocean between your opponent is coward’s work.”

  The comment smacked her across the face. Law hadn’t been talking about her, had he? Intended or not, it applied.

  “You didn’t wake me to talk history. What’s up?” Law asked.

  “Have you heard from Zeke?” It wasn’t the reason she’d called, but it should have been. She squeezed her nape and meandered with the flow of two old ladies back toward Sushi Capitol.

  “Nope.”

  “He was supposed to be back two days ago and I haven’t heard from him.”

  “Back from where?”

  “Alaska.”

  “I though you two were taking that trip a couple of months ago. March wasn’t it?”

  “We were, but the thing with V happened.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Z was supposed to go without me, but he got called away for work and rescheduled. I thought it was going to iron out that we could go together, but then Rhonda got shot and we were put under the microscope. He left last week.”

  “How long was the trip?”

  “A week.”

  “Hey, at least he won’t freeze off his knob,” Law chuckled.

  “Frozen knobs?” Magdalena croaked. “Now that’s bad news.”

  Law laughed harder. “Go back to sleep, love. All knobs are firmly intact.”

  “Oh, good,” Mags said.

  “Can we stop talking about knobs? I’ve been around them all day.”

  “You hussy.”

  “I wish. I’m not worried about Zeke freezing. I’m worried he might have been dinner for a grizzly fresh out of the den.”

  “I’d put my money on Zeke and light a barbecue for the bear. Khani, you know how he is. He’ll turn up when he’s good and ready.”

  Sure she knew Zeke vanished from time to time, but he always let her know—whether in an email or singing telegram—before he disappeared.

  “Maybe he found peace in the great wilderness.”

  “Right. I find zen in make-up and shoes. Zeke finds it in big pints and even bigger women. We’re city dwellers, Pierce. All of us.”

  “Then why the vacation to the last frontier?”

  “Isn’t the last frontier space?”

  “That’s the final frontier, if you’re a Trekkie.”

  “Oh. Well, I missed him. I moved half the world away to be able to see him more than once a year, but it hasn’t really worked out that way. I figured this trip would bond us or something.”

  “And then you didn’t go. Maybe he’s punishing you.”

  “It’s possible. That’s the only reason I haven't launched an all-out manhunt. Speaking of man-hunts, or women-hunts, have you heard anything about Cara Lee?”

  “Last I heard she was causing a ruckus in your neck of the woods.”

  “If you hear anything concrete, let me know. How’s work? Is the rookie holding his own?”

  “Finally we get to it,” Law sighed.

  “Get to what?” she hedged.

  “The real reason you called.”

  “Oh, stuff it, would you?” The old-blue-hairs shuffled along probably as fast as their brittle legs could carry them, but the stagnant pace only added to her annoyance. She banked left. A row of parking meters cut her off. The bastards.

  “Not a chance,” Law laughed. “And you can’t call him a rookie anymore. The kid has more chops than most lifers. I really don’t think he came to us straight out of college. He’s too seasoned for that shit. You were commander before you left. Did his file say anything about prior training and for whom?”

  “You’re the commander now,” she reminded.

  “I was the interim commander. You know I didn’t want the job. I hate paperwork. There was so damn much of it I hardly had time to eat, sleep, and bang my wife. Forget about snooping in files.”

  “Who’s your replacement? When?”

  “He wants to tell you himself. So, I can’t say, but you’ll approve. And it’s been in the works for a month now, but you were dealing with some shit and he was getting jumped in, so to speak. Now back to Street’s file.”

  “His file was sealed.”

  “No fuck?”

  That tidbit—the reminder of it—revved Khani’s over-stimulated brain. In her two years as commander of the London Branch office and one as lieutenant commander in DC she’d never come across another closed personnel file. When she’d called the UN director for her region asking questions about Street’s background she’d met with a greased wall. Every attempt to maneuver around it or over it failed and she hadn’t had enough time to devote herself to something so inconsequential. The UN had reasons for everything it did and it was all for the furthering of peace.

  “No fuck,” she finally sighed.

  The white-haired ladies separated to pass an immovable object planted in the center of the sidewalk. King Street’s hazy green gaze centered on hers, punctuating the futility of her fighting the attraction that had sparked the moment she first laid eyes on him. Her feet sank into the concrete as though it were quicksand.

  “I’ve gotta go,” she said into the phone.

  “Good luck with it all. And hey, we always have a room or six, if you want to come visit.”

  Khani ended the call and shoved the phone into her pocket before her shaking hands dropped it. What the hell? In countless missions, dodging bullets and blades, covered in blood, hers and others, her hands never shook, no matter how steep the adrenaline drop afterward. She fisted them and crossed her arms over her thrashing heart.

  Her lips suddenly seemed as dry as the cracked edge of the walkway. No way could she speak. Not that she knew what to say anyway. She dragged them into her mouth and whittled her gaze.

  The jacket and hat no longer hid his features. What a shame for her heart health. He stood, relaxed, on his heels, as though he hadn’t just parked a tank in front of an oncoming train. One hand pressed leisurely into his back pocket. The other hung at his side. Veins swollen, probably from his quick escape, contoured a forearm as wide as her thigh. An extra-large white T-shirt—she knew from experience—molded to every bulge and curve of his traps, pecs, and round shoulders.

  His casual air, the one with which he interrupted her hard-fought center irritated her out of the momentary stupor. She tightened her fist in preparation to jab him on the square jaw or knock him upside his fat head. “Why are you here?”

  The nostrils of his broken-many-times nose flared.

  Khani salivated like a fucking dog in heat. She refused to swallow, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of knowing the effect he had on her.

  “To buy you dinner,” the Englishmen—who sounded more Irish than Brit—said.

  His voice ratcheted her insanity to a whole new level. She hadn’t heard it in months and it had been one of th
e things she found most appealing. His voice gave sound to his thoughts, which were often insightful. It was as if he’d lived four lives already and took the knowledge gained with him to the next. It had surprised the shit out of her at a time when not much stunned her.

  She swallowed. Fuck him. “You’ve already eaten.”

  “But you haven’t.” He nodded in the direction of the restaurant.

  “We don’t have reservations and your window seats were taken.”

  “You needed a minute to adjust to the idea.” One side of his mouth quirked.

  “What idea?”

  “The idea of seeing me again.”

  “Pompous ass.”

  “So, my being here doesn’t bother you at all?”

  “Why would it?”

  “Great. Then let’s eat. Don’t worry. I’ll get us a table.” He turned toward Sushi Capitol and waited. He’d goaded her into that one. Yet another thing he did well—maneuvered people.

  She’d mounted the ranks in a male dominated profession. She’d faced countless enemies and come out on top every time. She could share a meal with the man she’d let come inside her body. Couldn’t she?

  An inhale meant to fortify revealed just how shaky her nerves were. They rattled together like chains in a haunted house. One foot in front of the other. That’s how she’d survived training and that’s how she’d survive Street.

  Khani stuffed her hands into her jacket, took a step, and then another. The smell she’d never been able to pin down caressed her cheek. Her steps sped, bringing her even with Street, and then propelling her past him. She didn’t like anyone at her back, but it beat looking at him.

  She grabbed the door handle and yanked it wide. In the time it had taken her to make an ass out of herself in the alley, talk to Law, and confront a man she never thought she’d see again, the crowd had eaten their fill and thinned. Street drew closer in the narrow foyer. She backed against the glass. Still his chest brushed her shoulder as he pushed past her and strolled to the waitress.

  When the young woman’s dark eyes lifted the two feet he towered over her petite frame her mouth literally dropped. The server nodded even before Street asked his question. Like she’d happily meet his every request.

  An agitation altogether foreign settled under Khani’s skin. She gnawed her lower lip. The powdery taste of cosmetics pricked her tongue. The new lipstick she’d bought—MAC’s Lady Danger—probably stained the front of her teeth red and had her mouth looking like a well-used hooker’s. She cut her gaze to the cooler of fish at the bar and ran her tongue along the front of her teeth.

  “All set.” Street pulled out a chair at a table against the wall. His open hand offered her to sit, while his expression offered nothing. “I ordered you a water, edamame, and a nigiri tray. Do you want anything else?”

  “Yes.” She pulled out the chair across from him and sat facing the street…both of them. Who the hell named their kid King Street?

  “You are something else.” He shook the crooked smile of his face and sat.

  “I want to know how you know what I order,” she demanded.

  “I asked the waitress.” Street pressed his elbows onto the table and held his palms together. The callused skin of his hand caused her own to dampen. His strong brow dipped. He looked at her with hooded eyes. “Anything else?”

  “Why are you really here?”

  He smiled for the first time. It held more mischief than humor. “I can’t say.”

  “Or won’t.”

  “Can’t. You know how it is. Classified is classified.” He whispered the last of it.

  “Are you transferring?”

  Street held her gaze for a full minute without moving or saying a word.

  Oh, she played strong and silent with the best of them. Talking wasn’t her strong suit anyway. She relaxed back into the chair and scrutinized him as closely as he studied her. Mystery shrouded this man and not in the I-wonder-what-his-hobbies-are kind of way.

  Bloody hell. Mystery led to intrigue. With the way he fucked he didn’t need to add to the temptation. She feared the answer would only pull her deeper under his spell.

  The waitress brought two waters and steaming towels for their hands. She lingered by Street, and then collected his towel and finally hers. “I’ll be right back with your appetizers.”

  The sounds of the low conversation, fidgeting, and mastication filled the silence of their table until the college student, or drop-out, returned. This time she carried two baskets of edamame along with her freshened face and now visible cleavage. Racist or not, Khani hadn’t thought Asian chicks had cleavage. Apparently everyone did, but her. The waitress sat the food in front of each of them and batted her lashes toward Khani’s dinner companion.

  Khani straightened in her seat so quickly the young woman severed the string of drool she leaked over Street and looked at her. “You can leave now.”

  The waitress’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes jumped from her to Street in rapid succession, before landing on Khani. She stepped backward. Her foot hit the chair at another table. The move must have bolstered her courage. She rebounded. “I didn’t think you two were together.”

  Street leaned closer, his eyes intent and mouth curved.

  Loath to answer the unspoken question for fear of pleasing either one of them with her answer, she planted her forearm on the table. Her hand crowned with a fist widened the waitress’s eyes, but also screwed up the woman’s mouth in defiance. Her long, board-straight hair fanned as she turned and stalked away.

  Great. Now the little bird would spit on her food. Or worse.

  She snapped her gaze to Street. “You enjoy that?”

  “Immensely,” he grinned.

  Khani gawked at the food. “How much do you think I eat?” In the excitement, she forgot about her silence. Blast it.

  “Not nearly as much as I do.” He removed both baskets from the mound of green pods, and then plucked one from the bowl. His lips parted. The end of the husk disappeared into his mouth. He pulled the thing out slowly, dragging his lips over the skin as he had her skin too long ago.

  Fuck it all.

  In no mood for a demo of her oral skills—which he’d experienced firsthand— Khani popped the bean from her pods onto the plate before tossing them into her mouth. She’d only divested a handful of them when the waitress returned carrying two trays of nigiri and a pissy expression she directed at Khani.

  Street cleared his decimated basket of edamame out of the way. The waitress moved to set a tray in front of him.

  Khani scooted her basket over. “I’ll take that one.”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed. She looked from Khani to the tray and back.

  “Yep, right here.” Khani tapped the table.

  Kimi—according to the nametag on her chest—slammed the tray in front of her, and then hesitated with the other one. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Street.

  After the woman hustled away his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “How’d you know?”

  “Please. This is literally child’s play. I can’t even believe I’m putting up with it. The real question is did you know and would you have let me eat it?”

  “I had a feeling and no. If she tosses herself at every guy that walks through the door, there’s no telling what you could catch.”

  “I doubt she throws herself at every one. Just the…” She clamped her lips together.

  “Just the…what?”

  “Just the fat-headed ones.” She lobbed a soybean at his big head.

  He caught the damn thing in his mouth and twitched his brow like the smug SOB he was. She groaned. His gaze locked on a place over her shoulder, and then shifted to hers, signaling that the waitress headed their way. A few seconds later the young woman breezed past.

  Kimi stopped inches away from Street. She leaned forward, putting her tits in his face, and slid the tray with nine beautiful pieces of nigiri in front of him. Two cuts of fresh tuna laid over
rice replaced the two strips of white fish that had occupied the tray. She slipped a piece of paper under one of its wooden feet. “Call me, if you want to have some fun.”

  The soybeans in Khani stomach fermented. She wouldn’t give the little cunt or her one-time lover the benefit of seeing the display steal her appetite. Her fingers gripped the sticky vinegar rice and shoved the large piece of yellowtail into her mouth. With the fresh fish and rice combo doing crazy things to her tongue it didn’t take long for her hunger to return. It also helped that Kimi was called away to deal with new Hillers in need of a table.

  “This is so good,” Street said two bites in.

  She bobbed her head and finished another piece. “How’d you know I come here? Please don’t tell me you’ve switched to stalker mode.”

  “Ask the right person the right questions and you can find out all kinds of information.” He grinned, and then popped a hunk into his mouth as though it were no bigger than a bean.

  “Law? No wait, Mags has a soft spot for you.”

  He shrugged and went palms up. “I can keep a secret.”

  That he could.

  Street wiped his mouth with the napkin, leaned back, and folded his arms over his middle. The view incited her jangled nerves into a frenzy. Her jacket suddenly made a good insulator for baking her alive in the cool restaurant.

  “Why’d you leave, Khani?”

  The questions doused the flames and left a damp chill in her bones. She wanted to tell him to stuff it, that she wasn’t his concern, but it would only prolong the inevitable. “I wanted to be closer to my brother.”

  “Since you’ve been here how many times have you seen him?”

  Wow, that hurt, because the answer was not once since she’d moved halfway around the world to be closer to her brother had she actually laid eyes on him. And now he was MIA. “None of your damn business.” She scrubbed her hands on the napkin from her lap.

  “I want to know why you left.”

  “Sure I had other reasons. People usually do when making a big change. I was tired of riding a desk.”

  “Tired of riding a desk or riding me?”

  Khani bit the sides of her cheeks to keep from speaking before thinking. She breathed deeply for several beats, and then relaxed. “It was one time.”