by Linzi Basset
“Put your dick back in your pants, you rowdy bastard. This is my sub, Samantha Frazer. Luv, Alex White, the—”
“Governor of Washington State. Of course, I recognize him,” she quipped at the look on Rhone’s face. She was surprised when he pulled her under his arm and held her against his side.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” Alex glanced at the four men gathered around the boardroom table who had witnessed Rhone’s possessiveness. “He’s been bowled over. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“My feet are firmly planted on the ground but I know you and when it comes to a tight ass, you have no boundaries.”
“What progress have you made with the disarmament of these kind of bracelets, Alex?” Keon asked once everyone was seated.
“Not as much as I would’ve liked. I’m afraid technology evolves too fast for us to stay abreast all the time. The schematics you sent us are the latest development in direct people warfare. In other words, it is used on unsuspecting people to turn them into human bombs for terrorism. Now, they don’t need to strap a massive amount of C4 on someone to blow them up. Those bracelets are made of compressed explosives. Some could take out an entire single-story home because once detonated, it reacts with oxygen to form, what CIA R&D refers to as, blue energy, because of the blue flash it emits before it explodes.”
“Jesus,” Keon said and slumped into the chair. He leaned his head back in despair.
“So far, we couldn’t find a way to deactivate the sensor on the bracelets from a distance, especially the ones manufactured abroad. The best we can do with this specific kind is to contain the damage to the carrier. He or she would potentially lose the arm.”
“That’s not what we wanted to hear, Alex,” Rhone said. He ran his hand over the back of his neck.
“We can, however, establish how the explosive is activated. Not all of them explode automatically when removed. That’s never been their purpose. They’re usually detonated remotely with some kind of device.”
Max sat forward. “Is it possible to lock into the remote signal that is sent out from the bracelet? Maybe even divert or intercept the signal. If we can do that, we could remove them safely, right?”
“Yes. But there is one problem.”
“Which is?” Keon had also straightened.
“We would need access to the bracelet. It can’t be done remotely.”
“Fuck! Fuck!” Keon barked. His fists hit the table with such force, it bounced off the floor.
Rhone shared his frustration. As did the rest of the people in the room.
Another dead end.
Chapter Thirteen
Rhone sighed. She looked scrumptious, even peeved like she was at the moment, ranting at him nonstop while he locked the ankle cuff in place. It was becoming exceedingly difficult to find reasons to keep mistrusting her. Especially after the incident at her workshop. But he had to maintain the façade. For his own sanity.
He didn’t trust people easily—never had. He’d seen too many back stabbings in his life to take anything at face value. It didn’t matter that she affected him in ways he refused to contemplate. He didn’t know her well enough to ascertain whether she was being truthful. Ruark’s advice to go with his gut flashed through his mind.
Yeah, but it doesn’t work so well when your dick is in charge . . . or unasked emotions.
“Why do you have to tie me up? Come on, Rhone. Have I done anything since we met to make you believe I would—dammit! It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? You don’t trust me and you never will. Everyone has a past, damn you; for some of us, more checkered than others.” She sat down on the bed, her shoulders slumped dejectedly. “Have you never done anything you’ve come to regret or wished you could change? Coerced or forced into doing something, only to have an epiphany one day and realized you’d been duped, used and got drawn in so deep that you were drowning?”
“Samantha—”
“If I was going to kill you, I would’ve done so the first time I saw who my target was. I had many opportunities, Rhone and I wouldn’t need a gun to kill you.”
“Samantha—”
“But that doesn’t matter, does it? It’s easier to judge me without real cause—”
“Without real cause? Really, Samantha?”
She stared at him. He seemed amused and that grated at her. He’d walked into her life, naked and gorgeous, offering her a glimpse of a life she’d been yearning for. Until it got upended by Bulldog. And he stood there, amused!
“My approach might’ve been wrong, but my intentions were always in the right place. And let’s be very clear on this, mister high and mighty, I am not the one who wants you dead. You know that!”
“I also know that your sister’s life is more important and will be the deciding factor when push comes to the shove, Samantha.”
That shut her up—actually shocked her to silence. It had been in the back of her mind, constantly, but she’d suppressed the thought. If it came to that and she had no other choice, what would she do? Would she be able to kill this man, who had crawled into her heart with the stealth of a jaguar, to save her sister?
Oh god! This is such a fucking mess. Wait! Crawled into my heart?
Rhone’s narrowed eyes didn’t miss her widening eyes. She lowered her gaze but not quickly enough.
“Samantha?”
Her emotions were all over the place and her mind scrambled to deny the truth.
It can’t be. I am too levelheaded to fall in love this quickly. God! There, I’ve said it. No, no, I can’t . . . but I am.
The realization dawned in her mind. She’d always thought of life as a chemistry set, reactions waiting to be discovered. It was full of experiments and surprises. God, and how! She’d shied away from emotions and situations she couldn’t control, especially since she’d left the CIA. She had needed to find herself before she indulged in deeper feelings or becoming emotionally involved. She’d held out for the one who bowled her over.
Rhone Greer had slayed her instead.
Now, she stood on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump; but not without his trust. Until then, it would be nothing more than a fleeting dream.
“Rhone, I know how Bulldog operates. If he’s involved with whoever wants to stop Senator Douglas, he will have people at that school party tonight. Please. Let me come with you. I can—”
“No.”
“You’re being obtuse. Imbecilic! I can help—”
He locked the chain in place and straightened. “I said no and that’s final.”
“You're an ass, Rhone Greer. You're making yourself an easy target.”
“First of all, he won’t know I plan on being there—”
“Do you think that matters? He’d have all his bastards on the lookout for you to take the hit when the opportunity arises!”
“Secondly,” he continued unperturbed, “I’ll be able to concentrate on keeping Dixon safe without worrying about a bullet in my back.”
“That’s an insult to any sniper worth their salt,” she responded in an automatic defense of her integrity. The code. Always look into your target’s face. Be sure.
“I didn’t realize assassins had a code. Pardon me for being so . . . imbecilic.”
She glowered at him, which drew a deep chuckle from him.
Stop it! Goddammit, you’re acting like a lovesick teenager.
“Very well. See if I care. Go. Get yourself killed.”
“Aw, luv, you say the sweetest things.” He fisted a clump of the hair at her nape and pulled back her head. “Now, why don’t we seal your blessing with a kiss?”
“You can kiss my ass!” She was annoyed enough to chirp at him.
“All in good time, luv. Right now, I much prefer your puffy lips, my pet.”
Her lips opened to spit an expletive at him but he took the opportunity to take possession of her mouth.
Samantha felt the rush of helplessness, the yielding, and the surging tide of warmth that left her limp like i
t did whenever he kissed her. He bent her back across his arm, the kiss starting softly at first, and then his insistent mouth forced her lips wider as he took full possession of her mouth. Demanding, controlling until she yielded with eager subjugation. Wild tremors tingled along her nerves; evoking sensations she had never known she was capable of feeling.
Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, he was gone. She opened her eyes. A lopsided grin on his lips was testimony of the knowledge that he’d just caused a flush of hot liquid to wet her panties. He wiggled his eyebrows.
“Now, don’t you go anywhere, luv.”
He ducked through the door seconds before a teacup shattered against the wall. His deep laughter echoed back at her, only to be doused by her angry shriek.
She stared at the broken pieces of porcelain on the floor.
“Shit. Enzo is gonna be pissed. I broke another one of his prized teacups.”
She flopped onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. Dread crept over her like an icy chill, numbing her brain. One thought swirled through her head—it could end today. This could be the day Rhone meets his savior. She jackknifed upright.
“Dammit! I have to get out of here.”
She glanced at her watch. Screaming for help won’t do her any good. Enzo would’ve left to begin the preparations for dinner at Club Devil’s Cove already. It was their second weekend and the restaurant was fully booked.
A quick search around the room was redundant. Rhone had removed all objects that she could use to pry open the locks of the cuffs.
“The bed! If I can lift the bed, I could push down the chain and out . . . uggh! Shit, I can’t even move it a half-an-inch,” she groaned as she strained to lift the heavy wooden bed frame. “Damned asshole thought of everything,” she muttered and fell back on the bed.
A whiff of sweat filled her nostrils, reminding her that she’d spent the entire day in the hot warehouse carving an intricately designed mirror frame. With a sigh, she got up to take a shower. At least the chain he’d used was long enough to get into the bathroom.
She winced at the sharp pinch of an object in her jeans’ pocket when she undressed.
“Yes! Yes!” she cried out in excitement. It was a gouge chisel that she used to carve fine lines. It was a very thin steel tool that had a sharp pointed blade.
Within seconds she had the lock of the ankle cuff undone. Five minutes later, after a quick shower, dressed in black jeans, a black t-shirt and sneakers, she was on her way in the Range Rover to the National Airport train station where she’d stored her kit—a specially designed case for her sniper rifle. It would delay her getting to the school party but without it, she’d be as much a sitting duck as Rhone and his team.
Douglas lived in North Potomac but his daughter went to St. Agnes Upper School in Alexandria, which was not that far from Rhone’s estate across the Potomac River. It concerned Samantha that it was a very large school, with three campuses—lower, middle and high school.
Based on the discussions Rhone had had with his team during their planning session, she recalled that the party was being held in the Goodwin Gymnasium on the high school campus. That at least would make it easier to scour the area where the kids would be. Except, she was going in blind. She didn’t have the time to study the school map and would have to think on the go. It worried her. She had always been very meticulous and planned every move down to the last step ahead of time.
Unprepared and unplanned could easily lead to disaster.
She pondered Rhone’s reasoning for allowing her to be present during their strategy session of the party two days ago. Was it a test? She’d noticed his sharp glance in her direction a few times but had shrugged it off. He was always glaring at her anyway.
Why did he find it so hard to trust her? Hadn’t she proved to him that she had no intention of shooting him? The words he’d said earlier flashed into her mind. “I also know that your sister’s life is more important and will be the deciding factor when push comes to the shove, Samantha.”
“Why did fate have to be so cruel? To give me back my sister, but only with an axe hanging over my head? What the fuck am I going to do if Rhone believes my suggestion to fake his death is just a way to make him an easy target?” Her voice cracked. “Because that is what he’s likely to believe.”
She parked as close to the train station as she could. A glance at her watch told her that the party was about to start. The team would already be in place with Jack chauffeuring the senator’s daughter and friends.
She worried the inside of her lip. She understood the Senator and Rhone’s reasoning for allowing his daughter to attend the party. Maintaining a normal environment was crucial in situations such as this but if Dixon wasn’t allowed to go and slipped away unnoticed, it would’ve been fatal. He obviously trusted Rhone and his team to keep her safe, especially as there had been no further threats since Rhone and his team moved in.
Knowing the situation and how Bulldog’s mind worked, the aim would be to kidnap her, which wouldn’t happen upon arrival. They would wait until the party was in full swing before they made their move. It offered her the time to get there and work on her own strategy. Hopefully the snipers, she had no doubt would be in place somewhere, were given explicit orders not to kill anyone but only maintain a vigil.
She retrieved her kit in record time and was at the school in short order. Security at the main gate was tight and only people with party passes were allowed entrance. Samantha cursed and drove past. She parked around the corner and after a quick Google search on her phone, perused the school map.
“Damnit! How am I going to get inside? The entire outer fence is electrified.”
She got out of the car and jogged back in the direction of the main gate, her rifle bag, over her shoulder and a black balaclava covering her head. She hunched behind shrubs and waited. Her patience was awarded five minutes later with the arrival of a minibus filled with teenagers. She sprinted to get next to it while the security guard checked the gate pass and chatted with the excited kids inside.
From there, it was easy to keep out of sight next to the vehicle and slip past the security guards. She jogged toward the trees, in the direction the cars were trailing. She realized how unfit she’d become over the past couple of years when she began to wheeze half way there.
She flattened her back against the side of the main school building to peruse the surroundings. Teenagers were moving in and out of the main entrance into the gymnasium. There were a number of grownups present in the vicinity which meant if they intended to snatch Dixon, it would be at the back of the building; maybe in the courtyard, where the toilets were situated. She sneaked around the corner and came to an abrupt halt.
“What the fuck? Why aren’t you on point? Wait, you’re not with . . . ugh,” the masked man grunted from the straight palm punch that connected with his jaw. He stumbled back. His breath wheezed from his throat. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
He charged with a six-inch steel blade in his hand. It glimmered ominously in the pale moonlight. Cold and ruthless, a weapon without kindness.
Samantha sidestepped and ducked under the wild swipe. He spun on his heel but hesitated when he heard the click of her knife unfolding. He squinted in the dim light from the hallway that was the only light source.
He scoffed. “You want to fight me with a little pocket knife?”
She didn’t respond. It was more than a pocket knife and just as deadly as the one he was holding. This time when he came at her, she countered with a sideward slice just under his arm. Before he could recover, she swiveled into a straight kick against his temple. He went down like a sack of potatoes. She managed to drag him out of sight. A snort escaped her nose when she found a snapshot of Dixon in his pocket.
He must’ve been the one tasked with kidnapping Dixon. She searched his pockets. She smashed the cell phone under her heel and the 9mm got thrown into her bag. She used the tape she found in his pocket to tie his hands behind his back and
gag him, before she took off to take her spot on top of the Perkins Courtyard roof. She was relieved to find no one lurking on that building as she crawled to the edge and peeked around.
“Yep, I fucking knew he’d have someone here,” she said. One sniper was on the roof of the gymnasium and she spotted another in the distance on the roof of the performance art center. “Trust him to cover all vantage points.”
Bulldog always had snipers on hand with every job he did―just in case. They too, would have no clue they were doing Bulldog’s dirty work. It didn’t take long to assemble her rifle. She settled in and waited. The night vision binoculars trained first on the two snipers before she began to look around.
She detected two dark figures loitering in the garden below. The glow of the cigarettes gave them away. She continued to look around, trying to find a sign of Rhone and his team.
A soft grunt drew her attention back to the two bodies below her. The sound of a fist connecting with bone reached her, followed by a grunt. Both the perps had been taken out. The two men who had found them turned around. Her breathing faltered.
Rhone and Keon.
The meaning of the red dot aimed at Rhone’s shoulder registered. She cursed but reacted with lightning speed, detecting that the direction of the laser came from the sniper on the gymnasium roof. Keon’s warning, “Get down,” echoed in her ear at the same time her shot penetrated the sniper’s head seconds before he could squeeze the trigger.
She looked down. Both men had taken cover.
“We have to get Dixon out of here, Keon. These two are clearly not the only ones here and it seems Samantha had been right. If that red dot was indeed a sniper rifle—”
Samantha had to strain to hear his voice. A snort from Keon echoed her own.
“You fucking know it was. What do you wanna bet that we’ll find the one behind that sniper rifle with a bullet in his brain on top of the gymnasium?”
“Yeah, I heard that whizz of the bullet too. Which means someone’s ASS is going to fucking burn tonight. For now, let’s get Dixon to safety, then we can look around.”