by Leslie Jones
Lark peeped up at Mace, who still stood by her side. “Would you mind helping me with my luggage?”
He glanced down at her small carry-on bag and then into her eyes, heat flaring, and snatched up the bag with his right hand. “It looks pretty heavy. How about if I take it up for you?”
“I’ll show you where to put it.”
Whoops and cat calls followed them up the stairs. Lark’s face heated. Mace nuzzled her hair as they climbed.
“Ignore those idiots. I do.”
“They mean well.” Laughter bubbled up in her throat. “I’m in the next wing at the end. As far from my parents’ room as humanly possible.”
“Her choice, or yours?” he asked sourly. “Isla seems very critical of you.”
“Mutual agreement, I think.” As she stepped inside her bedroom, she realized that Mrs. G hadn’t exaggerated. Her room looked just as it had when she’d left for college.
Mace put his hands on his hips as he looked around. Light yellow paint turned the room golden in the afternoon sunlight. Her built-in cupboard, bookshelf, and window seat were white and her spindly little desk under the second window echoed the yellow of the walls, but the bedrest pillow on the window seat was frog green. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles covered her curtains. She’d tacked posters of The Matrix, Brad Pitt from Interview with the Vampire, and Storm from the X-Men to her walls, and she’d draped the simple wooden bedstead with a pink-and-purple geometric spread that blasted bright color through the room. The whole thing swirled and clashed like a circus tent.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is just embarrassing.”
Mace laughed, head thrown back. “It’s authentically you.”
She turned to look at him. He, too, was authentically himself. He wore a plain black polo shirt and khakis. He could wear a sack and still look delicious. Or better yet, nothing at all. “Uh, you can put my bag on the bed.”
He did so. “Where do you suppose my bedroom will be? I didn’t think to ask.”
She pressed her hands against her thighs, looking at her twin bed. Down, girl.
“I’ll ask Mrs. G. Um, dinner won’t be until six. So we have some free time.”
He swallowed, naked desire in his eyes. “I’m dying to kiss you.”
“I don’t want you dying,” she said, “so I guess you’d better get on that.”
For long moments, they just stood there, staring at one another. Then she moved. One step. Two. His masculine scent teased her nostrils. She reached out a hand, and he watched, apparently fascinated, as it flattened against his chest and began a slow glide south.
“Holy God,” he muttered.
He reached for her, enveloping her, crowding her backward until she hit the wall. His mouth found hers and it felt like he would devour her. She opened to him, sucking his tongue into her mouth, sighing with pleasure as their tongues dueled and she ran her fingers through his hair.
“God, that feels great,” he groaned. He shifted restlessly, trying to slide his left hand around her waist.
“Be careful,” she said. “Don’t hurt your shoulder.”
“My shoulder’s fine.” As if to prove it, he shrugged out of the sling, then scooped both hands under her rear, lifting her up.
She helped by wrapping her legs around his waist, back pressed against the wall, fingers busily pulling his shirt out from the waistband of his pants. His hands slid along her calves, catching the fabric of her dress and pushing it up her thighs until he reached . . . he stopped, a quizzical look on his face, then bunched the sundress around her waist and looked down.
“Denim shorts?”
“Uh . . . I ran out of clean underwear?”
He pressed his forehead to hers as he laughed. “Denim shorts never looked so sexy.”
“Yeah, but I bet they look better on the floor.”
She dropped her legs. He wasted no time stripping the dress off her and unbuttoning her shorts, pushing them down her legs and groaning as it became obvious she wore no underwear.
“Never stop wearing them,” he said. “I always want to imagine you just like this.”
She unbuckled his belt and caressed him through his khakis. He shuddered in pleasure, but then grabbed her hand, kissing each finger as he somehow got his pants and shoes off.
She hummed in approval as he sprang free. “Let me touch you. I’m dying to touch you.”
“Later. Right now, I need to be inside you. Right now.”
She giggled, kicking her shorts off, then moaned as he picked her up again. His hands gripped her thighs, and he ground his hips against her heated core as he kissed her. She couldn’t help her mewls of pleasure, bucking against him, then grinding her hips in a slow circle in the way she already knew he liked.
“Did I mention right now?” he gasped. He spread her legs apart, which opened her to him. His magical tongue traced her lips and nipped at them as he found her wet opening and nudged inside.
“Nuh-uh. None of that gentle crap.” She pushed herself down, crying out as he thrust upward, seating himself fully inside her. She slid both hands behind his neck, arching back to deepen the penetration. He actually gasped and closed his eyes. “You like?”
“I love,” he muttered, burying his face in her neck.
There was that word again. Love. Before it distracted her, though, he thrust again, harder this time.
“Oh, yes,” she panted, right there with him. “More.”
He chuckled and grunted at the same time, which made her laugh. And then she moaned as he licked her nipple into his mouth, sucking and nibbling. She writhed on top of him.
“Bed,” she gasped.
“Here.”
His hands clamped her hips, his mouth rough as he sucked her tongue into his mouth, as he drove himself up into her again and again. She grabbed his shoulders, trying to hold on as her world spun out of control.
“Mace . . . Mace . . . harder . . . oh, God, yes . . .”
He yanked both her wrists above her head and locked them against the wall, interlacing their fingers, trapping her there, completely open to him. Vulnerable. And she came, clamping on to him tightly as her body shook, as he bucked into her wildly, as she reveled in the orgasm ripping through her so strongly she shuddered and splintered apart. He came with her, shouting her name, hugging her tightly to him as they floated and reformed.
And there they stood, both panting hard, her forehead dropped onto his shoulder and his against the wall. She wanted to stay like this, just like this, for the next four hours.
Someone pounded against the door.
“Go away,” Mace growled.
How did he even have the energy to speak?
“I need you both downstairs right now,” Tag called out. “We’ve got a crisis brewing.”
Chapter 44
Friday, March 3. 4:25 p.m.
Larkspur Mansion. Nantucket, Massachusetts.
As soon as he stepped onto the staircase, Mace knew trouble had found them. Melvin Dewey stood just inside the door, gripping Mrs. G’s arm tightly.
“I said, I want to fucking talk to Jocelyn Katsaros. I know she’s here.”
Mace turned to order Lark to go back upstairs, but Melvin saw her first.
“Get your ass down here, Lark,” he snarled.
Mace put out a hand to stop her from moving past him. “Not going to happen. Let go of the woman, Dewey.”
Jace, Gabe, and Tag stood by the collection of chairs. The remains of coffee and sandwiches littered the table.
“Not until Jocelyn gets her lying bitch ass in here.”
Dewey stood slightly taller than Mace, which put him at six-four easily. His bulky shoulders were tight, his chin thrust forward belligerently. Mace mentally calculated where he would have to hit him to put him down.
Lark put her hand on Mace’s arm, trying to push it out of the way. He didn’t budge. “What on earth are you doing here, Melvin?”
Melvin jerked a frightened Mrs. G closer. “I followed you up here. You
set me up. You and Jocelyn. Set me up to take the fall.”
Mace took a slow step down. Tag eased toward Dewey from the other side.
“Either of you takes another step, I’ll break her neck. I swear I will.”
Both operators stopped. Breaking someone’s neck was far more difficult than movies portrayed, but neither of them could take the chance Melvin knew what he was doing.
“Melvin, let her go,” Jocelyn said, coming from the room next to the stairs. “For God’s sake. What do you think you’re doing?”
She’d obviously just come from the shower. Her chestnut hair lay damply across her neck and shoulders, droplets moistening her blouse. One arm was raised as she prodded Gavin into the room ahead of her.
“Over there,” she said. “Get with the others.”
She had a revolver. Pointed at Gavin’s head.
Who caught his eye before he moved toward the chairs. He looked pissed. Mace read his expression easily. Should he try to disarm her? Mace shook his head minutely. Jocelyn’s finger rested on the trigger. If Gavin moved to take the weapon from her, it might discharge and hit someone else. Besides, the odds were good they could talk her down. She wasn’t a killer.
“Jocelyn, what the hell are you even doing with a gun?” Lark shrieked. “Put it down. You’re scaring everyone. Why do you even have a gun?”
She tried to duck under Mace’s arm, but he caught her by the back of her shirt, stepping in front of her again. Which turned out to be a good thing, because Melvin reached under his pants and pulled out a Springfield 1911, pressing it to Mrs. G’s head. The situation shifted from talk to immediate danger.
Mace shifted his shoulders, trying to assess his own physical condition. Making love to Lark had split some of his stitches, but he could do whatever was needed. Hopefully no one could see the seeping blood.
“Thanks to you, the FBI—my own fucking office—tried to arrest me this morning. I barely got away. This is all your fault.”
What?
“Oh, shit,” Lark said.
Mace twisted around to look at her. “What’s going on?”
“Short version? Melvin might have been selling secrets to the Russian mob, and probably other interested parties, too.”
Jocelyn raised a dramatic arm—the one not holding the revolver—and pointed it at Dewey. “He’s guilty as sin.”
“How about the long version, Lark? We’re a little confused here,” Jace called up to her.
Lark resorted to peering around Mace’s shoulder to see down the stairs. “It’s a little complicated. Before the nuke became a thing, the intrusion detection system at my office detected a malware program, and I was assigned to figure out what it did. Well, I did that.”
“And?” Tag prompted.
“The malware caused a time-sync error . . . uh, the program made the computer think it was a different time, so that when classified documents were stolen out of the SCIF, the intrusion detection system wouldn’t notice. And I traced the theft of the classified data to Melvin.”
“See?” Jocelyn cried. “You know he’s guilty.”
Lark all but hid her face against his arm. What had triggered so much anguish? She had no love for her boss, but she’d had doubts about his guilt. Had she discovered that Melvin really had been framed, as she had been?
“Lark?” he murmured. “You okay?”
She nodded and straightened. “He’s guilty, yes. But so are you, Jocelyn.”
Oh, shit. No wonder Lark was so torn up.
Two criminals, both with everything to lose. Both carrying guns, both threatening the lives of everyone he loved. He’d be damned if another teammate, or, God forbid, Lark, was harmed on his watch. His blood began to burn with combat readiness, his muscles coiled to react if given even half a chance. No one would die today.
“That’s not true,” Jocelyn cried. “I did nothing but tell Doug what he did. Like you should have, Lark.”
She turned to look at Jocelyn. “Yes. I should have. But that loyalty you were complaining I didn’t have? I fucking didn’t want to turn you in!”
Jocelyn glared at her, waving the muzzle of the revolver back and forth in the air. Her finger still rested on the trigger, damn it.
Lark stepped from behind him to his side. He renewed his grip on the back of her shirt, poised to yank her back if needed.
“Based on my findings,” she said, “my boss called in a special investigative unit called a Cyber Action Team. They confiscated everything and started their own investigation, starting from ground zero and inching their way like snails to the top. I’m guessing they came to the same conclusion I did days ago, based on them trying to arrest you, Melvin. And you, Joss, for using me to escape before you could be arrested.”
“Not me,” Jocelyn said, voice shrill. “He sold secrets to the Russians. He made his own bed.”
“Don’t play Miss Innocent with me,” Melvin shot back. “You’re lying in it right there with me.”
Jocelyn snorted a disdainful laugh, looking around at the others. “He’s the perfect fall guy, don’t you see that? Everyone hates him already. No one would be surprised to hear he sold out his own government.”
Melvin tightened his grip on Mrs. G, who cried out in pain. “And what about you, you bitch? Selling classified documents was your idea in the first place. I’m not going down for this alone.”
Lark wrapped her hands around Mace’s bicep. For comfort, he thought. He gently lifted them away, patting them before freeing himself for battle.
“Why, Joss? I just need to know why you did it.” She sounded on the verge of tears, but he couldn’t console her while the threat remained.
Jocelyn shrugged, a calculating expression on her face. “You’re hopelessly naïve, Lark. You assume that because you won’t lie or steal, no one around you would.”
“But selling classified information? You did that . . . for money?”
“No.” For a moment, Jocelyn looked lost. Her hands shifted restlessly, causing the muzzle of the revolver to waver. “Not for money. Just . . . I used to be one of the best hackers out there. Hell, I trained you, didn’t I? I was free.”
“Joss, we might have been white hats, but what we did was illegal. The FBI gave us a chance to go legit.”
Jocelyn gave a bitter laugh. “Legit. Right. Ten years of legitimacy, Lark. Walls and rules and writing up monotonous case reports. I couldn’t take it another minute. I did it to save my sanity.”
Lark sniffled. “You chose to be a criminal because you were bored?”
“Lark, I’m dying in that office. A little piece of me dies, every single day.” Jocelyn rested her backside against the wall, lowering the revolver as though it had become too heavy. “You’re taking to it like a duck to water. I’m happy for you, I truly am. We’re too different, I guess. I thought if I had you in the office, it might be enough. It’s not.”
Tag and Gavin eased apart millimeter by millimeter, shifting almost imperceptibly toward Melvin. To keep his attention off them, Mace jabbed a finger at him. “What about you, asshole?”
Melvin’s laugh was nasty. “Of course it’s about the money. Who the hell can retire on a government salary?”
Mace imagined his hands around Melvin’s neck. Given half a chance, he’d happily beat the crap out of the contemptible man.
Lark stamped her foot, anger coursing through her face and small body. “But you, Melvin, you’re the asshole who framed me for stealing Sokolov’s mob money. You could have gotten me killed, you bastard.”
“So what? Either way, you’d be off the malware project. But no. You had to be the hero and figure it all out.”
Fury slithered down Mace’s spine. One way or another, Melvin was taking a beat-down.
“How do you know that, Lark?” Gabe asked. Good man, keeping Melvin’s attention focused. Tag and Gavin had shifted closer to him. Another few seconds . . .
She turned her attention to Gabe, as well. “Doug assigned me the malware project over Melvin
’s objections. I thought Melvin just didn’t like me. Turns out he objected because he knew I’d figure it out. Jocelyn created a fake account that Melvin used to steal classified secrets. When I got too close, he framed me for the mob theft. The Cyber Action Team must have finally figured it out, too.” She took a breath. “What secrets did you sell, Melvin? Who did you put in danger because of your greed?”
“What difference does it make now? The fucking intrusion detection system finally found the malware.” He loosened his grip on his hostage. She stayed still and small, trying not to attract notice.
“Humor me.”
Jocelyn straightened, the revolver dropping to her side. “He kept the Russian mob in the loop over the years. One step ahead of the FBI. That’s how Sokolov knew about the suitcase bomb in the first place. We didn’t realize the fifty mil was to buy the nuke. Why the hell would a mobster want a nuclear weapon, for God’s sake? But Melvin pointed the Russians right at Lark, and a pissed-off Sokolov is dangerous.” Her look seemed apologetic, but Mace wasn’t buying it.
Tag reached a position where he could reach Melvin, if needed.
Once she decided to open up, Jocelyn couldn’t seem to stem the flood of words pouring from her. Confession was good for the soul, apparently.
“He found a report listing all the nuclear storage facilities in Russian and Ukraine,” she said. “Then he hinted around to a bunch of nuclear scientists that he could get them a nuke if they paid him enough. Fatianova Uvarov jumped at it.”
Melvin glared at her. “But you wrote the program to disable the security grid at the nuclear dump in Lyubinsk. What you did was worse than what I did.”
Lark whirled on Melvin, face contorted in fury. “You’re a criminal. A cowardly, vile felon.”
“I can’t stand your fucking smartass attitude,” Melvin said. “Your weird hair and your unprofessionalism. But I didn’t think of threatening you to get you to back off. That was all her.”