Hunted

by Sharon C. Cooper

  Cyrus vowed to destroy those responsible. It might’ve taken him going around and around in circles for over four years, but his determination had finally paid off.

  Whitney was his first target.

  Now he just had to make sure she was dead.

  He pulled up behind an old orange pickup truck. The driver had stopped right after Whitney crashed and was now hurrying out of his vehicle. The man, tall with a beer belly, had red hair and a long scraggly beard the same color covering his alabaster skin. Wearing worn overalls and dusty work boots in the farming area, it was safe to assume he was a farmer. Besides Cyrus, the guy was the only person to stop. Every other motorist just peered at the scene through their car windows as they crept through traffic.

  Cyrus couldn’t have planned the accident better. Traffic was backed up, and Whitney hadn’t had a chance to travel far before needing her brakes.

  Putting his truck in park, he turned on his blinkers. He didn’t think he’d need it, but he made sure the Atlanta PD badge was in his pocket. At a quick glance, not even a police officer would know it was a fake.

  He climbed out of his truck and tugged the Atlanta Braves baseball cap lower on his head. To complete his disguise, his wraparound sunglasses were securely in place, covering his light brown eyes and some of the freckles on his light skin. He rushed toward Whitney’s vehicle. Any observer would dismiss him as another Good Samaritan.

  He had been traveling three cars behind and had seen the crash. There was no way the woman could’ve survived it, especially after slamming into the huge eighty-foot trees at the speed she’d been going. The only other thing that would have given him more pleasure was if the car would’ve exploded on impact. Now that would’ve been sweet justice.

  There was still a little satisfaction, though. The way the front end of her Toyota Camry was mangled, she had to be dead. Cyrus needed to make sure.

  “Hey, thanks for stopping,” the farmer said. He had to be around six feet tall, an inch or two taller than Cyrus, and at least thirty pounds heavier. “The door is jammed. Let’s see if we can get it open. The driver might still be alive.”

  “Let me grab my crowbar.”

  For her sake, she better not be, Cyrus thought as he rushed to the rear of his truck, grabbed the tire iron, and ran back. He peered through the driver’s side window. The airbag had deployed, and the windshield was shattered. Whitney’s face bled from its many cuts, and her head was arched at an odd angle. More importantly, she wasn’t moving.

  That’s a good sign.

  Cyrus stuck the crowbar between the door and the body of the vehicle. He wanted to make his effort to help look good. While he tugged, trying to pry the door open, the other guy kept yanking on the door handle.

  “I’ll go around to the other side and break the window,” Cyrus offered, surprised it hadn’t shattered on impact like the windshield.

  Just when he lifted the crowbar to crash through the window, he heard sirens in the near distance. He needed to move quickly if he wanted to ensure his target was dead. If she wasn’t, he planned to finish her off.

  Once he busted through the window, Cyrus carefully reached in and opened the passenger door. He shook her gently, careful not to touch anything else, and then placed two fingers against her neck to feel for a pulse.

  Nothing.

  Relief spread through him. Considering how close the other man was behind him, it would’ve been hard to kill her under his watchful eyes. Now he didn’t have to worry about that. She was dead.

  “Is she…” the other man started, but his words trailed off when Cyrus climbed out. His phony expression of being distraught must’ve worked. The farmer shook his head and cursed.

  Seconds later, a police car and a fire truck were on the scene. Emergency personnel flooded out of the vehicles. The farmer was talking a mile a minute to anyone who would listen. He explained how he and Cyrus had tried to help the woman.

  “All right, all right, we’ll get your statements,” a large burly police officer said with his arms spread wide, blocking their view of the wreckage. “Right now, though, I need you two to move back. Step over there.” He pointed to a spot at least twenty feet away where another officer waved them over.

  The farmer was questioned by that cop, while Cyrus was stuck with the burly police officer, who, after a few minutes, he wanted to punch. The guy kept having him to repeat almost everything Cyrus said, as if not believing him. The only thing that made the situation bearable was when the black coroner’s van showed up.

  Sweet victory.

  One CIA agent down.

  One to go.

  *

  After taking Coco outside, Myles returned to his bedroom and climbed back into bed.

  He had slept soundly except for when he vaguely remembered Geneva getting up, bumping around downstairs in the middle of the night. At some point, she had even replaced the large bandage on the side of her forehead with a regular-size Band-Aid.

  What he hadn’t realized until this morning was that she had also stripped out of her clothes.

  Laying on his side and propped on his elbow, he pulled the sheet up over Geneva’s bare breasts, not wanting to be any more aroused by her naked body. Just the sight of her had him hard as granite. Add that to the fact that he hadn’t had sex since the last time they were together, two weeks ago, and his penis was ready to punch a hole through his lounging pants.

  Agony. Being this close and not touching her was pure agony.

  Geneva stirred, moaning in her sleep. Eyes still closed, she yawned and slowly stretched her arms up and out. Each move she made caused the bed sheet to slide lower. Her voluptuous breasts and perky nipples that begged to be sucked peeked from under the covers again, stoking the growing fire within him.

  Damn. Even in her sleep, she insisted on torturing him.

  Laying on her back, she yawned again, and her eyes eased open. She glanced up at the ceiling, blinked several times, then turned her head toward him. Their gazes locked, and a slow, sensual smile spread across her gorgeous mouth.

  “Good morning, handsome,” she crooned.

  Myles’s shaft twitched at the huskiness of her melodious voice. She rolled onto her side, facing him, and his whole body yearned with need.

  He wanted her.

  Wanted to touch her, any part of her, but a touch would lead to a kiss. A kiss would lead to heavy petting. Heavy petting would lead to the point of no return.

  Not a good idea. At least not until they had a chance to talk about their relationship…or whatever was happening between them.

  “Morning,” he finally said and kept his hands to himself. “How do you feel?”

  She searched his face for the longest time before speaking. “Horny. I’m feeling horny as hell.”

  Okay, that wasn’t what he expected her to say.

  “Instead of just staring at me, why don’t you help me out with that,” she purred and moved even closer. Her fingers took a slow stroll down his chest, and his body heated from the inside out.

  “Gen…” Myles started, unsure of what to say. Of course, he wanted to help with all of her sexual needs, but she was more than a quick lay—something he realized while in Los Angeles those couple of weeks.

  Geneva was important to him. Important enough to where he wanted to change their initial agreement. At first, neither of them was looking for anything serious, but now…

  Yeah, they needed to talk.

  Myles needed to tell her that he didn’t just want a sex partner. He wanted her in his life. He wanted her to be his woman. But the realization of that was too crazy to even form the sentences that would be needed to tell her. He didn’t do relationships. He didn’t let women get this close.

  Not just because he loved his drama-free life. No, there were a number of reasons why: one being his past life. The life of a spy had been dangerous on so many levels. Though he no longer worked for the CIA, Myles never knew when something or someone from his past would creep into his present
. He never wanted to put his loved ones in danger because of something he might’ve been a part of in the past.

  “Don’t overthink this, Myles. I’ll respect your wishes and keep my distance…tomorrow. Right now, though, I want you as much as I think you want me.”

  She slid her hand lower over his stomach and kept moving south, sending sparks of desire shooting to every nerve in his body. He sucked in a breath when she cupped his shaft, rubbing him gently before squeezing.

  “Let’s just help each other out, for now; then I’ll move on.”

  “I’m not sure I want you to move on,” Myles groaned out as his shaft grew harder within her grasp to the point of being almost unbearable. He covered her hand with his. He didn’t want her to stop stroking him, but they needed to clear the air. “About what I said a couple of weeks ago. I’ve—”

  “Just be quiet and kiss me.” Geneva didn’t give him a chance to respond. She barely finished her sentence before releasing him, then straddling his thighs and covering his mouth with hers.

  Pleasure pulsed through his body as she kissed him with an intensity that had him vibrating with need. Yeah, they could talk later. Much, much later. All Myles wanted to do at that moment was refamiliarize himself with every inch of her luscious body. But as she ground against his hardness, his brain short-circuited, and he could barely think straight.

  His little vixen not only kissed with a hunger that matched his, but Myles had learned early on that her sexual appetite was just as ferocious as his. He’d been a fool thinking he could have just one taste of her and be satisfied.

  It wasn’t even just their sexual chemistry that turned him on and kept him coming back for more. It was everything about the woman. Her wittiness. Her intelligence. Her boldness. Myles had never met anyone quite like her. Whenever they were together, in and out of the bedroom, Geneva stoked something so exciting and uncontrollable inside of him, he couldn’t ever see moving on from her.

  She was now stretched out on top of him. Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, no part of them wasn’t touching. The only thing that kept him from sliding into her sweet heat was his pants, but Myles could feel all of her.

  He moaned when she circled her hips on top of him, making him even harder if that was possible. He cupped her bare butt, planning to slow her moves since he didn’t want this to be over before they even began. But unable to help himself, he started kneading and squeezing her ass, crushing her more to him and loving how perfectly she fit into his hands.

  “Myles,” Geneva groaned against his lips as her body gyrated more.

  “I know, baby.” He knew her patience was wearing thin.

  Myles flipped her onto her back and deepened the kiss, ravishing her mouth and unable to get enough of her sweetness. She was the sexiest woman he’d ever been with. Having her naked beneath him stirred every erotic desire he’d kept bottled up for the last couple of weeks. The lust-arousing sounds she was making only intensified his need to have her, but Myles didn’t want to rush.

  He moved his mouth from hers and nibbled her earlobe, eliciting a whimper from her as she wiggled against him. He nuzzled her neck.

  “Man, you smell good.” The vanilla fragrance was even more pronounced than it had been the night before. “And this body...”

  With his hand, Myles traced a path down the center of her body and cupped her firm breasts, pushing them together before lowering his head to taste her. He swiped his tongue over a pert nipple. Teasing, Licking. Sucking.

  “Baby, that feels good,” she said, moaning and trembling under his touch.

  Even her moans were sexy.

  Myles kissed a path down her chest to her stomach and lingered near her bellybutton.

  “My—Myles,” Geneva breathed, her hands gripping his head as she moved beneath him. He knew what she wanted when she spread her legs, and he was just the man to satisfy her every desire.

  He took his time, kissing his way lower, wanting to savor every minute with her. More than anything, Myles wanted to prolong their time in bed.

  “I think we need some chocolate syrup.”

  Geneva giggled between panting. “Later…we’ll get it later. Don’t stop.”

  Myles smiled against her scented skin. She was always torturing him one way or another, especially in the bedroom. A little payback right about now wouldn’t hurt.

  He stopped abruptly and hopped off the bed.

  “Nooo…” Geneva choked out a laugh that turned into a groan as she pounded her fist on the mattress. She squeezed her thighs together as if in pain. “You are not right. You can’t leave me like this.”

  “Oh, but you’re going to love every minute of what I have planned for you.”

  He wanted to torture her some, but in hindsight, maybe it wasn’t one of his best ideas. The woman had him so damn hard, he could barely walk. Taking a few deep breaths, he took uncomfortable steps to the bedroom door.

  “You’re going to pay for this,” Geneva grumbled.

  Yeah, he was already paying, but it would be worth it.

  When he opened the door, instead of Coco running into the bedroom as Myles expected, she headed to the stairs, glancing over her shoulder to see if he was following.

  Myles closed the door and followed the dog downstairs.

  “Instead of chocolate, maybe some whipped cream,” he mumbled to himself, quickly grabbing the can out of the refrigerator and heading back to the stairs.

  Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Bzzzz.

  Whoever was pushing on his doorbell wasn’t letting up. Coco started barking and prancing around, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from before running over to the intercom.

  Myles rarely had visitors, and no one dared stop by without calling. But whoever was ringing the bell was intent on getting his attention.

  He strolled to the door. Instead of using the intercom, he activated the built-in monitor connected to cameras at the front and rear of the building. Buying the loft from a person who owned a security firm had its advantages. Mason had outfitted the unit with a state-of-the-art security system.

  When the person came into view, Myles’s heart slammed against his chest. Tension gripped his shoulders. His mind raced with scenarios that would explain the visit, and not one of them was good.

  Coco sat next to his legs, whining as if sensing his sudden anxiety. Myles placed his hand on her head, petting her with soothing strokes to quiet her. The gesture even helped him some, but there was still a slight churning in his gut as he braced himself for whatever was about to come.

  He buzzed her in, knowing it would take a few minutes for her to ride the elevator to his unit. Hurrying over to the coat closet off of the kitchen, he grabbed a sweatshirt off of the top shelf and slipped it on. Then he stuck his bare feet into a pair of running shoes.

  He was back at the door and opening it before his visitor had a chance to knock.

  “She’s gone, Myles,” Yvette choked out. Her red-rimmed eyes and quivering lower lip had his pulse racing. “Whitney…she’s gone.”

  Tears leaked from her eyes, and her shoulders shook while Myles stood in shock, attempting to process the news. Numbness seeped into his body. With Yvette showing up on his doorstep, he knew that something terrible had happened, but not that.

  Dead.

  Whitney was dead.

  The news hit him like a back kick to the face. This didn’t make sense. He had just talked to her the night before. Now she was gone? Dead?

  Coco started whining again, and Myles glanced at the dog, who nudged his leg with her nose as if to say snap out of it.

  “Where’s Collin?” Myles asked.

  Yvette reached for the stroller that was out of view and pulled it forward. “She dropped him off early this morning at my place, saying that she had to meet a client. She was only supposed to be gone a few hours, but…” Yvette covered her face with her hands and sobbed outright.

  Myles’s chest tightened, and he pulled her into his arms. She and Whitney had grown up in foster
care and ended up in the same foster home at the age of twelve. Since then, they’d been closer than some biological siblings. Not only had Yvette lost her sister, but the sleeping child would grow up without his mother.

  Seconds ticked by as they stood, holding each other while Myles grappled with the news.

  Yvette eventually pulled out of his hold and wiped her face feverishly with the sleeve of the fleece jacket. “I saw her this morning, only a few hours ago. Now…I just can’t believe she’s gone.”

  “Yeah, I can’t either. Come in.” He helped maneuver the jogging stroller into the loft and locked the door behind them.

  Yvette released a long sigh. “It doesn’t seem real.”

  Collin stirred, and she pushed the stroller back and forth.

  “Here, let me take him out of there.”

  Myles lifted the boy from the stroller and adjusted him so that the child’s head rested on his shoulder.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  When Yvette started crying again, Myles adjusted Collin in his arm, then wrapped his other arm around her. He hoped to offer some comfort, but it wasn’t easy when emotion clogged his throat. Whitney was gone. He had spoken with her the day before, not knowing that it would be the last time.

  “I’m sorry, Myles. I just can’t seem to get myself together.”

  “I know, but you’ll…we’ll get through this.”

  Myles held Yvette close until her sobs stopped. Then he stepped into the half bath next to the stairs and grabbed her a few sheets of tissue.

  “Thank you.” She dabbed at her eyes. “The cops are still investigating, but they said according to witnesses, Whitney lost control of the car and drove off the road.”

  “Where?” Myles asked.

  That didn’t make sense. Whitney was an excellent driver. How had she lost control of the car? Had she fallen asleep at the wheel? Did she swerve to miss an animal in the street? Did someone run her off the road? Questions he knew Yvette didn’t have answers to bombarded his mind.