“That’s classified.”
“Really,” Logan said dryly. “Then let’s figure how much cash it would take for an MIT grad to reproduce it from these schematics, which, I’ll guesstimate, about a half dozen terrorists already have?”
“You made your point, Chambliss. But since it’s been modified, we aren’t positive.”
“Estimate.”
When Logan heard the specifications, he thought, They have the power to hold us all hostage.
Sam was glad that Dragon One worked like a well-oiled machine or Viva wouldn’t be sitting on the edge of the bed, letting Logan examine her.
“You really are anal sometimes, Logan.”
Sam chuckled to himself as Logan checked Viva’s ears and everything else she owned. He’d grabbed her the instant she was inside the house and wouldn’t listen to any of her balking. They were all afraid the bastard had screwed with her mind again. Didn’t seem that way and she kept her gaze on Sam, refusing to be parted while she sat through the exam. Sam didn’t blame her. It had been a scary few days. His gaze swept her, searching for signs of torture. The marks on her throat had turned dark, the visual threats to her life.
“It was the voice,” she said. Sam’s gaze narrowed. “The same guy who did the mind thing on me, it was him. He needs to die.”
“Bloodthirsty woman,” Logan said, and she turned her head and gave him such a vicious look, he put his hands up in surrender. “I stand corrected, ma’am.”
“Did you black out?” Sam asked.
“Other than when whoever it was took me from the plane, no,” she insisted. “I didn’t see anyone, ever, but I smelled cloves. One guy smelled like cloves.” The lozenges were popular in the Orient like clove gum and clove cigarettes. “He was actually gentle. I heard the woman who tried to take the bracelet.” Her gaze drifted to the cuff, too fragile to wear any longer.
“Blowgun bitch,” Sam said, his lips quirking.
Logan stepped back. “Other than the marks on your neck, which have turned a lovely shade of green”—he said as Viva looked in the mirror over the dresser—“you’re fine as far as I can see. Blood work will tell us what they used.” He gathered his things.
“They wanted me off their hands for the stone,” she said.
“Probably why they gagged you,” Sam teased, and she sent him a sour look.
Logan moved to the door, glanced back. He started to say something, then clamped his mouth shut.
Sam dragged his gaze from Viva and frowned. “We get anything on that picture from Voslav’s stash?”
The name made Viva cringe.
“I enlarged the ring up, but it’s distorted, looks like a family crest. NSA is searching for a face match. I’m through about four layers of the onion router, in Istanbul, believe it or not. But it disengaged before we started the trace. No trail. We can only get so far. McGill agreed to give us help if we needed it.”
“How about what the CIA station is up to?”
Logan scoffed bitterly and left them alone. Not that they’d notice.
Viva never took her gaze off Sam. “You gave him the means to fire that thing, you know.”
He shrugged. “Like I give a damn about a few million in diamonds.” Her life was worth anything he could give.
Viva was still amazed at that. “I didn’t think for a second you’d find me.”
“Underestimating me now?”
She rose and moved across the room. He leaned against a dresser, his arms folded, his head dipped down, and Viva thought, No one would suspect the casual power in that stance. He still needed a haircut, and when she neared, he unfolded, reaching for her. She loved that, the way his hand searched, caught, and tugged her close, like she belonged.
“I’m wild about you, Viva.”
Then he’d shock her like that, say things that made her heart roll in her chest. “I knew there was a reason you keep rescuing me.”
Guilt drew on his skin. “You’re missing my point intentionally.”
“No, and the feeling is entirely mutual, but you want to take the blame, like you did with the sniper rifle, and Riley’s injuries.” He scowled, ready to protest. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“Maybe.”
She smiled. Stubborn Texan. “I’ve got lots to feel guilty about, believe me. It gets really heavy after a while. Put the energy to better use.”
“Suggestions?”
She wiggled her body to fit to his. “Got eight seconds?”
Her words slammed into him and sent his body into lock and load. So easily.
Her hands slid around his neck, her smile telling him he was in for some fun as she pulled him willingly—God, so willingly down to her mouth. He tried for tenderness, for less than what he was feeling, but it wasn’t possible, not with Viva, not with the excitement she generated with just existing.
He couldn’t live without her, without this, he thought, closing his arms snuggly around her, one hand molding her curves and under her shirt. She opened his jeans, boldly diving her hand inside, and a sphere surrounded them, encased them in heat, her kiss setting off the wild lick of flames down his body. Gentleness vanished and they were tearing at each other, at their clothes, laughing when he toed off his boots and they nearly fell.
He grabbed her back, his mouth trailing hotly down her throat, and he paused long enough to strip off her shirt, toss it with his before his lips closed over her nipple. He drew it into the heat of his mouth as if trying to devour her, his tongue circling and flicking.
Viva shimmered with desire, drank it in, the scent of him, the way he tasted her as if he never would again, his tanned, ropy muscles flexing as his hands roamed her roughly, almost desperately.
He pushed her jeans down; she tried kicking them off without stopping the kiss, then in a frantic scramble they stripped, and she was back in his arms, his hand sliding down her body and between her thighs.
“Oh, Sam,” she breathed, thrust to his strokes and with her arms around his neck, she hopped, clamping her legs around his hips. He arched a dark brow and she thought, I love it when he does that. “You have some making up to do.”
“It was a good plan.” He worried her mouth, cradling her behind, and pulled her to him. His erection slid wetly against her center, and Sam loved the way her breath hitched.
“Yeah, right.” She nibbled his ear, his throat, and felt him tremble with her with anticipation of him pushing inside her. She wanted him, right now.
“Next time, you plan it—oh, jeez, you feel good.”
“There won’t be one.” Her breathing labored.
“Yeah, yeah, trouble follows you.” From behind, he dipped his fingers deeper.
“Not if you stay this close to me—oh, God, don’t stop that.”
“Didn’t plan to.” He sank to the carpet, stroking her, and she grew more breathless, thrusting to him.
She managed to say, “There’s a bed just there.” Her hand closed over his erection, eliciting a dark, heavy groan.
“Too far.” He pushed into her palm, his mouth rolling over the flesh he could reach, his hands combing a wild ride over the rest.
He felt the pressure on his thighs as she rose up, guiding him, teasing him mercilessly as she rocked on his erection. Her smile was sinful, her fingers sliding over the tip of him.
“You’re trying for eight seconds?” he asked and leaned forward till she was on her back.
“Break a record.”
He entered her on one thrust.
For a moment, he held still, her hands on his face, her gaze locked with his. Emotions swelled, tightening his chest, his heart pounding so hard he swore she could feel it. He’d almost lost her and the terror of it made him realize his feelings for her went beyond this moment, beyond this mission.
“I’m trying for a lot longer,” she whispered, and leaned up to tear him apart with a kiss.
Sam quaked with the savageness of it, her impatience, and without will, he moved. Viva pushed back, her heat flexing aro
und him, a tight, firm lock on more than his body. He laced his fingers with hers, as if being joined together wasn’t enough. She smiled up at him as he withdrew and pushed, her hips doing that rolling-curl thing he loved, letting him feel every inch of him sliding into her. When she quickened, he knew he wouldn’t make it, then it didn’t matter. Her mouth was on his, her body pumping with his, and she stopped kissing him long enough to whisper, “Yee haw.”
Sam chuckled and scooped her off the floor and onto his lap. Her eyes flared at the slick, wet length of him and she rocked, giggling when he gripped her hips and growled like a beast, and startled when she pushed him on his back.
She rode him, leaving him completely, only to shove back, her green eyes wicked and full of her power. She knew what she was doing to him. Unhinging him. She made wisecracks about cowboys, and sexy, erotic talk that would drive any man over the edge, and Sam thought, She’s got me, she’s got me and I’m drowning in her.
Energy rocked and pulsed—around them, between them, he could almost taste it on her mouth, and Sam sat up, their motions primal and raw. She was on the brink, her body flexing around him, clawed him.
“Viva, oh, Jesus.”
“Come on, Sam. Take me home.”
He rolled her on her back and hips pistoned. The explosion ripped, the pound of it pushing them across the floor and she bit her lip to keep from screaming, but Sam swallowed her cries as her slick, wet muscles pawed him, drew him with her. Into the tumble of pleasure. He watched her ride the eruption, savored the sight of pure satisfaction shimmering through her. Viva left nothing to chance, still moving, taking it all and glowing with ecstasy.
Before it was over, before the rapture faded, she clutched him, wanting his weight, and when she had it, the sound she made was exquisite. Perfect contentment.
And Sam knew.
He just knew.
“The Indonesian buyer is dead.” Zidane said into the phone.
Jalier cursed. “How?”
“In his hotel room. He’s been relieved of some organs. The backs of his legs cut.”
“You’re wrong.”
He knew Jalier wouldn’t believe it, and Zidane used his cell phone to take a picture. “Sending you proof now, sir.”
A minute passed before Jalier said, “Dispose of it. Find the rest and protect them!”
Zidane scoffed. “I am but one man. It would do us more good to find her.”
“Then do it. The stones?”
“Gone.” Zidane ignored Jalier’s anger and closed the phone. His gaze moved over the body of the faction leader sprawled naked and bleeding on the bed. The kill was obvious, he thought, and left the room, and with a white handkerchief, wiped the blood from his hands.
Max drove, following the movement of the GPS tracker. When it was stationary, he stopped, sliding the car to the curb under a tree. Across the street, the building was old, neat, and well tended, sandwiched between new, larger buildings and almost hidden. At this hour the streets were busy, people strolling from bar to bar, and a block up he could see a tattoo parlor open for business. The scent of the sea rolled in on the warm air and he cracked the window a little farther and picked up the faint grind of engines as longshoremen worked the docks into the night. Music slipped on the warm air and he yawned, then decided he needed a sugar rush, and grabbed a candy bar from his stash.
He still couldn’t pinpoint who had the box, only general movement. Too many cars and people going in the same direction and the only thing he could do was wait till it got out into the open. The tracer was just a beacon and had a hundred-yard radius.
He chewed, closing his eyes and thinking he could use a couple hours shut-eye. He was just dosing off when the sensor beeped and he shifted, turning over the engine and looking around.
The tone increased, indicating close proximity and his gaze zeroed in on the black sedan, its windows tinted dark. His gaze flicked from the car to the GPS.
“Gotcha,” he said as he put the SUV in gear and followed, the candy bar clenched in his teeth.
The air-conditioning wafted the scent of death around the hotel room. Sirens blared in the distance and Kincade knew he had only moments. He touched nothing, the door wide open and likely left that way by the killer. He couldn’t remember ever seeing such carnage in one place. Blood splattered the walls and furniture, the fat body slumped on the floor.
Someone beat me to it, he thought, and on his encrypted cell phone, informed the CIA station chief, verifying with pictures. Check this fucker off the list of America’s Most Wanted. Hezbollah faction, he thought, pulling on latex gloves as he moved around the room, thoroughly searching it and the personal items. They’d never had a clear target of who was running the finances. Who’d take up the gauntlet of the dead was their next concern. Either way, the killer had the diamonds.
He read some of the files on the laptop, and while he wanted to leave with it, he didn’t think he’d get out without notice. It was his job not to be seen. Instead, he copied the documents, sent them to his computer, then erased that one history. Then he deleted the weapon’s schematics and logged off just as the sirens sounded outside. People gathered in the hallway. Time’s up, he thought, and hurried to the rear of the room, glad this guy had a low profile or he’d be in a better hotel. He opened the window and looked down. It’s only one story down, he told himself, then swung his hip over the sill, and vaulted into a pile of trash.
Max hung back behind the locals, watching the Thai police escort a body out of the building. He’d followed the GPS marker and lost track of the car in heavy traffic, but not the signal. The paramedics wheeled the gurney out of the building, the body jolting under the white cloth already soaked with blood, and Max suddenly appreciated the care American EMTs took with the dead. The men met the curb and shoved the stretcher, the body nearly toppling. In the grab, the sheet over the face slipped. He sidestepped the people to get a look.
Well, well, he thought. Ain’t that grand. Chalk one up on the fight against terrorism. He headed back to the SUV, the GPS tone already steady and moving. Who are you? he wondered. Are you leaving a trail of bodies or tracking the killer?
He’d gone another mile when the tracer stopped. Max climbed out of the car and crossed the street, covertly glancing down at the GPS tracer as he headed toward the signal. I’ve been made. Or at least the box had. He knew it before the tone went steady and he looked down into the trash can.
Crap. Did it have to be outside a restaurant?
With a sigh, he went Dumpster diving. The box was covered with noodles and he shook it off, then used paper trash to wipe it clean. He couldn’t leave it. It was rigged, though Sebastian had disengaged the detonator. With it, he turned back to the car, mentally marking the location of the last stop. He opened the car door, put the box inside, and was reaching in the glove box for a wet wipe when he felt the gun at his back.
Well after midnight Viva sat in a corner chair, sifting through papers from the hangar. The guys couldn’t get a handle on it and offered it to her. “Sebastian, you own a restaurant.” He looked up, nodded. “You get food delivered on a regular basis, right?”
“Every day, sure.”
“Do you have to contract a refrigerated trucking company to transport it, or do the sellers do it for you?”
“Depends on where I’m getting it from. Shrimp and crawfish come from local fishermen, so I send a truck to pick it up. Why?”
“These invoices.” She rose and came to him. “Could they be invoice or routing numbers from the company, a regular customer, their data in files, computers, whatever at the main warehouse?”
Sebastian took the sheet, then turned to his laptop. “The bill would go to corporate, like it does to me. The drivers would just have the address and contents, no idea what it cost, or who’s paying the bill. Yeah, it works for me. Logan, I need you to hack this company.” Sebastian had to call him twice.
Logan had on a headset and was tapping into the computers. She swore the man breathed m
egabytes.
He looked annoyed, and though she’d no idea what he was doing on those computers, he stopped and inserted a CD, typed a code. “Let it run, it will find a back door and cut through.”
“You’re a geek of the first order, Logan.” Viva said, grabbing her coffee and watching them work. All three were doing something, Sam studying photos they’d taken in the past days, searching for Lord only knew what. Occasionally, Sam would look up and search the room as if he thought she’d be gone. When he found her, he’d smile, wink, and make her heart trip a little. I’m so loving that man, she thought, pouring coffee, then grabbing a pastry off the platter before they all scarfed them down. Max was usually first at the food.
“Where’s Max?”
“You just now noticed he isn’t here?” Sam teased, then frowned at his watch and reached for the radio. “Come to think of it, he hasn’t checked in.” He tried to raise him and got nothing, bringing Logan and Sebastian’s attention. The same with the cell phone. “The radio is working, he’s not near it.”
Logan instantly pulled up the tracer on the screen. “Stationary, box tracer and his GPS mark are on top of each other.” Which didn’t answer why he wouldn’t respond.
Sam grabbed his weapon and gear. “Load it to the chopper,” he told Logan.
Viva met him at the door. “I’m going, too.”
“Not a good idea. Too many people want to hurt you.”
“And with you I’ll be safe. Besides, I can watch the GPS. I’m good at directions.”
“Someone knew you were getting on that plane when they snatched you. It takes some heavy pull to get a jet manifest. Stop being so mutinous, it’s for your own safety.” He leaned to kiss her and she took a step back and folded her arms.
“Don’t treat me like I can’t handle it.”
“God love you, Viva,” Sebastian said when the hacked program finished. “It is a trucking routing number, and the address is southwest. The food delivery is to a house.”
Hit Hard Page 25