by Jenna Ryan
…
Shock coursed through Amber’s body. “You killed Lydia?” She couldn’t possibly have heard that right. “Why? When? How?”
“In reverse order: with a gun, three years ago, because she sold me and half the department out.”
“Okay.” Half afraid to move, Amber kept her eyes on his shadowed face. “Is there more, or am I just supposed to go with that and maybe take it as a warning to scale back my anger?”
“Take it any way you want. It doesn’t change what I did. Or what Lydia did.”
She ran a suddenly damp palm along the side of her jeans. “Were you lovers?”
“Yeah. She was good, and I was stupid. I almost died for that stupidity. I almost got a lot of other people killed.”
“Who did she…?”
“Work for? It wasn’t Mockerie, or we wouldn’t be running. The guy was a drug lord, a cocaine importer from Colombia. He had meth labs on the side and was in the process of getting fentanyl onto the streets. She was persuaded to join his team when a coworker in Vice was promoted ahead of her. It was nepotism and unfair, but hell, nine tenths of life isn’t fair. Most of us suck it up and deal, right?”
“Most of us,” Amber echoed. “But not all. Obviously not her.”
“I was after the same drug lord for murder. I had leads and evidence. She had a growing bank balance. It’s an old story, happens more than you think, more than it should. We got into a situation one night. My partner discovered the truth, dragged me out for a confrontation. We saw them, they saw us. She shot my partner, the drug lord shot me. My partner shot him, I shot her. Lydia and my partner died. The drug lord lived. Briefly.” Not by a flicker did the expression in his eyes change. “Anything else you’d like to know?”
Still feeling shocked, Amber went with the first thing that came to mind. “Yes. Why did you agree to help me?”
A faint smile appeared. “Meet McCabe sometime. You’ll understand. I went off the rails for a while, left the force. Left Los Angeles. I got colder and meaner. I stopped caring about myself or anyone else. Then, one day, McCabe asked me if I’d like to become a US Marshal. I thought what the hell. It was still law enforcement. So I went through the training deal. Let me tell you, it was hell and then some. But it was worth it just for my first assignment. A woman who reminded me of Krista had a son who wanted her dead. She wanted him in a psych ward. Locked down until his medical and mental issues could be properly addressed. The son was clever and quick, couldn’t be caught in the usual way. So McCabe took an unusual route. It’s what he does.”
“And what you do now, as well.” The tension in her body faded to a tingle of residual fear. Turning away, she rubbed her temples. “I feel like I’m living in the Twilight Zone,” she murmured.
“You think?” Gage’s smile upped the tingle in her belly to a hum. Like the lightning outside and the thunder that rattled the walls and floors. Rattled her. “So what now, Snowbird? Are you afraid of me?”
She regarded the whole of him. “I should be, shouldn’t I? Would be if I were Rachel or Lydia. But I’m not either of those women.” And dammit, desire spiked through her when his dark eyes locked on hers.
“You really don’t want to go there with me.” The shadows around him shifted slightly, made his eyes more visible in a face she could barely see. “I won’t hurt you, but I’m not a nice guy.”
She laughed, couldn’t help it. “That’s bullshit and you know it.” Her hands fell. “That thing you and Bear did with Rachel pissed me off, still pisses me off, but nothing about what you’ve said scares me at all.”
“You’re worth three million dollars.”
She stared at him for several long seconds, head up and challenging. “Fine. If you’re so bad and I’m so vulnerable, turn me in.” She walked toward him, slowly, while something much more exciting than fear swam in her veins. “From what you’ve told me, alive would be better than dead, but I’m sure you could manage it, a fit, fully trained ex-cop like you.” She shook her hair back in a deliberately provocative gesture, let her hips swing just enough to draw his gaze. “Go on, do it. I won’t resist, at least not in any way you can’t overcome. Take the money and complete the slide to the dark side.”
He didn’t look away as lightning shot through the sky beyond the window. “Nothing about this situation is safe. You know that, don’t you?”
“That and much, much more.” She stopped walking less than a foot in front of him, gripped the sides of his jacket. “I don’t mind being pissed off. It stimulates my senses, like the lightning outside. There’s something to be said for living dangerously. Not recklessly like Rachel, but on the edge. You’re an edge, Gage. I’m on it, and I intend to keep right on going.”
“You’re crazy, Snowbird. That interference band I rigged is eroding as we speak.” His hands followed the line of her waist, then moved higher to span her rib cage. He lowered his mouth to hers. “We’ll probably both be killed,” he murmured.
Then, covering her lips, he took her all the way over the edge.
Chapter Seventeen
He didn’t want this. Did not want to get tangled up with any woman, let alone a woman like Amber. She appealed to him on every level. She challenged him on an equal number. She was smart and beautiful, with an instinct for survival he couldn’t help but admire. She also loved her sister. No idea why, but she did.
There was something quite remarkable there, given Rachel’s nature. He intended to think all those things through when his brain returned to a functioning state and was no longer being controlled by his hormones.
She gave him a shove when he lifted her off her feet. The smile she sent him brought fire to her amazing eyes. Hooking her arms around his neck, she settled herself against his hips. Her legs enfolded him and bumped the need inside him to a burn.
He kissed her and damn near lost his bearings. Cupping his face, she kept his mouth on hers when he might have pulled back, for breath and a brief moment of clarity.
“Don’t think,” she told him. “Just feel. Enjoy. I want to soar, Gage. Let myself go, fly, and not worry about where I land. Where we land. I think you’re bigger on regrets than I am.”
Okay, gauntlet thrown, picked up, shredded, and tossed aside. He grinned against her mouth when she began to hum.
“‘My Way’?”
“Frank sang it first, but I’m thinking Elvis for obvious reasons here.”
She tugged on his jacket as he laid her on the bed and followed her down. She reacted by rubbing her hips against him and making him see fiery red.
She continued to hum while she pushed aside the leather of his jacket, smiled when he rolled her on top of him and went to work on her jeans. Straddling his hips, she pulled off her T-shirt with its deep V and clingy red fabric. He saw a bra that was mostly black lace, displaying cleavage that made him want to beg.
She had an amazing body. Silky soft and glowing in the barely there light. Then lightning flickered and illuminated her for a single glorious moment.
Black lace, pale gold flesh, amazing features, and a teasing gleam in her eyes. He might have regrets later, Gage reflected, but at that moment, they were few and far between.
He had no idea how he got her out of the rest of her clothes. He only knew things flew into the shadows. Laying her back on the bed, he kissed her long and deep. Then he worked his way down her body, from throat to breast to navel, until he reached the hot, wet center of her. He took his time there, tasting, exploring, savoring.
Desire clawed at him. Fortunately, while he felt like a horny adolescent, he wasn’t one. They had condoms. Despite the heat and the persistent throbbing between his legs, he put his own need on hold and focused on hers.
Her fingers curled in his hair. Her body rocked. When he looked up, he saw her head arch on the pillow, felt her hips rise.
He heard her gasp as her fingers went limp.
“Jesus, Gage. That was…”
Cutting her off, he took possession of her mouth even as he
slipped inside her.
Her cry of response was coupled with a quick intake of breath and a hard upward push as she immediately matched his rhythm.
He used his lips and tongue when he kissed her. He knew he let too much of himself flow into her, too many feelings, some old, some new. They twisted and coiled into a ball of confusion in his head.
“I taste conflict and mystery and a little bit of need.” Grabbing hold of his arms, she bowed her body upward. “Lose the conflict and give in to the need.”
“Happy to.” As he kissed the corners of her mouth, he kept his eyes on hers and upped the tempo to match the pulsing in his brain and lower body.
Thunder crashed, and lightning spread from black cloud to rain-soaked ground. And for a moment that felt oddly suspended in time, the world beyond the motel window simply melted away.
…
Good-bye Yellow Brick Road. Amber’s lips curved. The words ran through her head like the Elton John song. Good-bye Elvis, as well, at least for the moment. And hello Gage Morgan.
She couldn’t move—a dangerous state to be in considering who was out there searching for her.
Three million dollars. Could Rachel resist that kind of money? Was she worried the answer might be no?
Because her own answer to that was no, she set the question aside and listened to his heart as it beat a little too fast under her ear. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Are you hungry?”
She heard the lazy drawl in his voice when he replied, “Not enough to do anything about it.”
Amber raised her head slightly. “Storm’s moving west. Is that good or bad?”
“Good if you like storms, bad if you don’t.” Reaching over to the nightstand, he picked up the tracking device, which strongly resembled a cell phone. “The blip hasn’t moved. Assuming Rachel’s still wearing her earrings, neither has she.”
“If they were her diamond drops…”
“Bear said they were.”
“Then she’s still wearing them. Unless the people holding her are savvier than I think and they’ve figured out she’s bugged. Like I apparently am.”
“Then there’s that. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. The whole bugging thing, especially where you’re concerned, feels off to me. I can’t explain how or why, but it does.”
Folding her arms on his chest, Amber looked into his eyes. “I don’t regret slapping you. I still think you should have told me about your plan. Is Bear going to continue tailing us?”
“He would if I asked him to, but I won’t.”
Stretching upward, she kissed him. “Are you sure he isn’t in need of three million dollars?”
He kissed her back, ruffled her hair. “I’m not sure of anything when it comes to Bear.”
“Or Abel or Wanda or Mandy?”
“Let’s say I’m as sure of the people on my side as you are of the ones on yours. Does that help?”
“No.” Rolling onto him, she sat up with her knees on either side of his hips. “But I’m really hoping this will.”
And bending down, she kissed him until her mind went hot and blissfully blank.
…
Try as she might, Rachel couldn’t unfold her arms. Fury radiated from her. It was Amber’s fault that she was back in captivity. Why hadn’t she said the guy she was with looked like King Kong? Why had he wrapped his forearm around her throat when she’d tried to get away? She’d thought for a horrible moment he was going to try and kiss her or, way worse, rape her. It wasn’t until he’d snarled at her to shut the hell up because he was her sister’s friend that she’d understood.
Too late, always too late. And now she was truly starting to believe Owen didn’t love her. Maybe he never had. Three former wives dead. Would she have been the fourth?
Damn. She couldn’t even delude herself anymore that her life just might return to normal. It was over. The spending sprees were done. So was the shower of jewelry. And she could kiss off her sweet little Porsche with the hot pink leather seats forever. She was down to the dumbass Jess Murkles of the world. And wasn’t that just about as bad as life could get?
She’d heard talk since they’d brought her there. Because men, when they weren’t being watched over by an eagle-eyed scumbag who’d posed as a friend, tended to flap their gums in all kinds of disgusting male ways.
Her sister was worth a small fortune. Her sister who’d gotten her into this mess—sort of. Who’d stuck her for good with bumpkins like Jess Murkle. Except Jess had turned her in, so that made him a traitorous bumpkin.
She should never have let herself get drunk and start talking. She’d told him too much, she knew that. But who’d have thought he’d be smart enough to figure out what to do with the information she’d given him? Damn country bumpkins to hell.
It appeared her choices were very limited. Creeps or bumpkins. She needed to go one way or the other. Unless…
Fingering a sparkling drop earring, she cocked her head and then shook it so the diamonds glittered in the mirror across the room.
Pleased with her reflection, and a burgeoning idea, she stood to admire herself. She’d bitched and complained until someone had brought her makeup and a bottle of body lotion. She could make that work for her, couldn’t she? She hadn’t lost her sex appeal, she was sure of it. And men were men whether they were bumpkins, millionaires, or somewhere in between.
Oh yeah. She let her lips curve into a sly smile. It was time to dude up the girls and see if they could help her swing a sweet, rich deal.
…
Amber tumbled into a soft, untroubled sleep. Satisfaction ruled and her body felt weightless. Until the noise began.
Slot machines whirring, people laughing, chatting, occasionally shrieking. Gareth came up behind her, squeezed her shoulders, and whispered, “You belong here, Alexa. It’s your niche.”
It wasn’t, and she’d understood that by then. But gathering evidence took time, trickery, and a strong measure of deceit, unfortunately.
She’d let him think she cared even as she’d swiped the keys to his father’s office. She’d seduced information from him, including the fact that his father’s computer passwords were written down, secure in a black notebook buried deep inside a well-concealed wall safe. The safe’s combination? Easily deduced when she’d discovered that Owen was every bit as anal—and as oddly predictable—as Gareth.
He’d had three common passwords. In each case, he’d used the first name of one of his late wives coupled with the order in which he’d married her, followed by the year she’d died. Or been killed. All things neat, tidy, and as simple as they could be in Owen Fixx’s world.
“We’ll get married, have ten kids,” Gareth had promised. He’d kissed the top of her head. “Ten beautiful musicians. We’ll be our own band, and we’ll have you to manage us.”
God, she’d felt guilty. But death was final, and Rachel was next in line.
She twitched the dream away, went back to the delicious place where Gage had taken her. Much better. And there he was, half hidden within the darkness, secretive and mysterious—with a smoking gun in his hand and a woman lying dead at his feet.
Even with blurred edges, the image jolted her.
“Wake up, Amber.”
Gage spoke while she was gasping and already partly upright.
Her hair fell in her eyes, over her face. Her breath came hard and fast. “I was… I saw… Why am I sitting up?”
“No idea.” He pulled her back down. “Bad dreams maybe. They get me most nights.”
“I bet.” She exhaled on a shudder. “What time is it?”
“Almost four p.m.” He reached for the tracking device, squinted at it in the shadow-filled room. “Shit!” He sat up. “She’s moving.”
Amber pushed her hair back. “Moving at this moment, or has her location just changed?”
“Location’s changed. She might still be moving. We need to stay in range. I’ll see what the motel owner has to offer, vehicle-wise. He might be open to cash.”
Already digging through her pack for clean clothes, Amber glanced up. “You seem to have an endless supply of money. How is that possible?”
“McCabe believes in covering all contingencies. Most of those have dollar signs attached to them. He loaded me up before I left Memphis. Get everything ready, wait here, and keep an eye on the tracker.” He was gone before she could answer.
So much for the blissful afterglow, Amber reflected as she buckled her pack and pulled on her boots. Dragging her hair into a tail, she slipped on a jacket and reminded herself the nightmare would end. All things did, good or bad.
The door opened. Amber whipped up her gun, spotted Gage, and breathed a sigh of relief. “We need some kind of signal. If I were trigger happy, I’d have blown your head off.”
He grabbed his pack and hers, swept the room. “If you’d done that, you’d have been forced to drive a contentious vehicle and rescue Rachel on your own. The owner took five hundred for what he called his funky heap.”
“That doesn’t sound overly promising. Does it run, or will we be doing a Fred Flintstone with it?”
“He said it was a faithful heap, he’s just got his eye on a slightly newer Jeep Cherokee. It’s cherry red.”
“As opposed to a camo-colored whatever this Jeep is.” Amber circled the back end. “I can see where a cherry-red Cherokee would look really good.”
Passing her, Gage gave her a quick kiss. “Beggars and choosers, Amber. It runs, it’ll do. Where’s Rachel?”
“Heading for New Orleans would be my guess. Definitely in Louisiana, moving south.”
“We need to play catch up fast, before she’s out of range.”
“Which is?”
“I don’t know. We’re probably close to the limit by now. We’ll stop for food and coffee after we bridge some portion of the gap.”
Once they were on their way, Amber watched the mirrors, as well as the road ahead. They were driving back into the storm, which was unnerving. But the darkness required all drivers to use headlights, so if someone was, in fact, tailing them, she’d see them coming.