Dangerous Games

by Mara

  Grant's voice was calm. "I know where the cameras are and how to avoid them. No problem. Lyons will be dead by now, which is regretful, but not really a problem."

  God, Grant spoke so coldly of the death of a man Morganna could have sworn was his friend. Of the whole team, Grant had always seemed the most solid, the most dependable.

  "Don't do this, Grant." Fear rose like a dark cloud within her mind as she fought his hold. "You know what Fuentes will do to me."

  Would Clint risk a gunshot to her to keep her from being taken? Morganna knew if Grant managed to get her to that door, then she was dead.

  "Do I act like I care?"

  He sure as hell didn't sound as though he cared. She glanced into the stony, hard expression and knew he didn't care.

  "Why are you doing this?" The gun dug harder into her back as she fought against him. "I haven't done anything to you."

  "No. You didn't," he agreed, his voice benign. "I'm afraid you've been caught in a very clever trap I only meant to use against Joe. You brought yourself into it, Morganna."

  "Let me go." They were getting closer to the back exit and still Kell or Ian hadn't made a move on Grant.

  She had a chance of surviving a gunshot. A slim one, yes but a chance. And if she did die, at least it would be fast. If Fuentes got hold of her, death would not come easy, not would it come peacefully.

  "I won't let you take me, Grant." She dug her feet in as they reached the wall and he began leading her to the exit light that glowed in the color of blood.

  Something in her voice, in the sudden resistance of her body, had him pausing. He jerked her closer, bringing a gasp from her lips as his hand tightened around her upper arm.

  "A gut shot hurts real bad, Morganna," he sneered as he pressed the gun into her abdomen. "There's no way Clint will get you to the hospital in time, and even if he did get you there before you died, you'd never survive surgery. Just think with Clint's contacts, he might find you before Fuentes kills you. You have a chance by going peacefully."

  Morganna tightened her lips in the almost certain knowledge that she was going to die there.

  "Shoot me." She fought him as he began to pull her to the door. "I won't let you do this." "Then I’ll shoot a few friends of yours; how does that sound?" The pain as his grip tightened further stole her breath as her knees weakened. "Do you want to choose the first one I shoot on that dance floor, Morganna?" He turned her until she could see the dancers, most of whom she knew, at least in passing. "How many should I start with? One? Three? I have a dozen bullets in this clip just waiting to discharge. Pick out the first one."

  Oh God! Morganna felt the strength leave her body, the horror fill her soul as she saw the determination in Grant's stone-hard brown eyes. He would do it. He had nothing to lose.

  "Please don't do this." The fear raging inside her left her shaking, desperate. There had to be an escape.

  "Are you going to move, or do I start shooting?" She moved. Her breathing became jerky as terror started to overwhelm her, whipping through her mind as she fought to find an escape. There had to be a way to stop this, to stop him, but as the door ahead slowly came nearer and no help arrived, hysteria began to edge at her mind.

  "Hey, Morganna." Sandy stepped in her way, his dark eyes staring down at her as he smiled with an easy, engaging grin that was just a shade tighter than he normally used. "Where's your boyfriend?"

  "Behind her," Grant growled. "Get out of the way."

  "Hey, dude." Sandy blinked, glancing from Grant to Morganna. "He's not your boyfriend. What's up?"

  Yeah, what was up? This wasn't the quiet, almost shy Sandy she knew. "Excuse us, Sandy-"

  "Are you crying, Morganna?" He tilted his head, his body shifting just enough that if Grant tried to shoot him he would have to reveal the gun first, rather than keeping it hidden between them. "You making her cry, man?" Sandy glanced back at Grant.

  "If you don't move, I'm going to make you cry," Grant snarled.

  "Fine. Whatever."

  Morganna had no warning of what was coming next. Before she could prepare for it, before she had any clue that Sandy was as perceptive as he was, she felt herself being torn from Grant's grasp and flung against the wall. She bounced against it, her head striking the stone as she heard the gun go off.

  Somewhere, someone screamed her name. Funny, she didn't feel as though she had been shot. She shook her head as she stumbled to the floor, staring around, dazed, her eyes widening as hard hands gripped her waist and pressed her closer to the wall.

  Then she saw it. Clint and Grant fighting for the gun as the crowd began to flee. Another shot went off wild, scream echoing around her as Sandy collapsed against her.

  He'd been shot. She twisted around, catching the young man as he collapsed to the floor.

  "I'll live." He grimaced, snarled actually, his expression twisting painfully as his hands gripped his side.

  "God! Are you insane!" she raged as she pressed her hand over his, feeling the blood seeping through his fingers. "Where the hell has your mind gone, Sandy?"

  "Trust you ... to bitch ... at me," he gasped, his face pale. "Bullet went through my side. Shit hurts." Oh hell. There was so much blood. Another shot rang out as she lifted her head again, staring in shock as Joe stood to the side of the two grappling men, Clint and Grant. Joe's gun was held in both hands, his expression so grief-stricken, so filled with pain, her breath caught.

  Slowly, Grant slid from Clint's grasp, the gun held between them falling to the ground as Clint caught him.

  The music was silenced. An eerie, pervasive absence of sound filled the club as everyone watched.

  "Bastard," Grant gasped as his hand pressed to his chest. "You should be dead... not me...." He coughed as Clint laid him on the floor. "You should be dead."

  Morganna's eyes widened. They were friends. Joe treated Grant like a brother, loved him, always joked with him.

  "Morganna?" Clint was beside her, pulling her to him as his hands began to move over her quickly, checking for injuries. But she couldn't take her eyes from Joe. "Are you hurt, baby?"

  She shook her head slowly. "Sandy." She showed Clint the blood on her hands. "Sandy's hurt."

  He moved to the younger man as Joe knelt beside Grant, They were inches apart. Joe's face was expressionless, but his eyes raged with grief.

  "Why?" She saw the word pass his lips. "Why, Grant?"

  "Because I hate you...." Grant coughed, blood seeping from his lips. "You got the promotion; you had Maggie-"

  "You married Maggie...." Joe shook his head. "She has nothing to do with this."

  "She does now." The smile on Grant's face was cruel, evil. "And you'll never have her. Ever, Joe. Ever...." The light dimmed in his eyes as death stole over him. Slowly. Completely.

  "Morganna, dammit, are you okay?" Clint's hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her fiercely as she turned her head back to him.

  His face was white, his midnight blue eyes nearly black with rage as he glared down at her.

  ""I'm not hurt. Sandy?" She turned back to him, watching as Craig and Drage steadied the other man, applying towels to the wounds as a cacophony of voices began to surge through.

  "Police and ambulances are on the way." Jayne slid in to Drage's side, her face bruised, her arm seeping blood beneath a hastily bandaged wound. "They hit the back door. The van tech is dead, but we managed to round up a couple of Fuentes' men. He wasn't with them."

  "You're hurt." Morganna shook her head, shock rising inside her quickly as tears began to fill her eyes. God, she shouldn't be crying. They had survived. She had survived. Sandy would be okay, wouldn't he? Clint was alive.

  "I'm fine." The woman's eyes were stone cold, her voice level.

  "Here, baby." Clint wrapped his leather jacket around her as she realized she was shaking, shaking so hard her teeth were rattling.

  "This sucks," she said tearfully, forcing the words past her chattering teeth.

  "Shock. You'll get over it. And yo
u did good, girlfriend." Jayne assured her, a small smile softening her face. "And. Sandy, babe." Jayne flashed him an approving smile. "You did good. Real good."

  Sandy stayed noticeably quiet as his gaze flickered back to Morganna.

  "What were you doing?" she asked the young man. "How did you know?"

  A bitter smile twisted his lips. "I tracked the drug here. Fuentes' soldiers killed my mother, her husband, and my half sister in South America."

  "Delores." Clint growled the name as he stared down at Sandy. Adam Delores had been one of the government employees on Fuentes' payroll. He had also been one of the DEA's inside men.

  "Delores." He nodded weakly. "They raped and murdered my younger sister before killing my mother and her husband. I couldn't let them escape. I had no idea Fuentes was still alive, though."

  "He's been here for more than a year tracking the drug, trying to uncover who was behind it," Jayne added before quickly moving back and making way for the medics pushing their way to Sandy's side.

  "Morganna." Clint turned her back to him, staring down at her worriedly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "I'm fine." She was still crying, though, and she hated that. "Grant was going to kill me, Clint." She hadn't expected this. She had expected a stranger, someone she didn't know. Despite Clint's assurances that there was a mole in Joe's unit, she hadn't really believed it.

  "I know, baby." Clint pushed her hair back, his fingers moving down her cheek before he pulled her into his embrace. "I know. I was right behind him. Sandy gave us the chance we needed to get you out of the line of fire."

  She held on to his back, shuddering at how close Sandy had come to dying for her. "It was Grant. I thought he was Joe's friend. They were like brothers."

  "No, they weren't." Clint's arms tightened around her. "Joe just thought they were. Hang on now, sweetie; the police are here and we have to sort everything out. We'll get through this."

  She nodded against his shoulder. "We'll get through it." Her voice hitched as she fought her tears; then she straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. "I'm okay."

  "I know you are, but I might not be." He held her in place as she moved to push away from him. "Just hang on to me a minute, sweetheart. Let me assure myself you're still in one piece. I think I died of fear when I saw that gun at your side."

  She trembled at the memory of it. He wasn't alone. It was a damned good thing she hadn't eaten dinner early, or she would have lost it on the dance floor when she realized what was going on.

  "Clint. The police are here now." Joe's voice wasn't normal, but she couldn't expect it to be.

  As Clint allowed her to turn from him, helping her to her feet, she faced the sorrow-filled expression in the other man's face.

  "I'm sorry," she whispered.

  Joe blinked back at her. "Why?"

  Her gaze moved to the dead man stretched out on the floor, the blood staining his clothes from the wound to his chest. "He was your friend."

  Joe paused, his gaze flickering to the body before returning to her. "He was no friend of mine," Joe said softly before turning away and moving toward the officers rushing into the club.

  Chapter 26

  GROWTH SUCKED. MATURING, SEASONING, GAINING experience, whatever the title, Morganna decided it was a pain in the ... soul.

  As the investigation officers swarmed into the club, followed by the Atlanta Division of Internal Affairs, to take over the case of the betrayal and death of Agent Grant Samuels, she saw another side of the horror she was facing in the job she had chosen. And she could feel that seasoning, that growth, rising inside her. Just as she felt the hollow certainty that Clint was right. This wasn't the job for her.

  It brought home a resounding crack of reality that she had been trying to avoid. The hard, cold look in Joe's eyes, minutes after he'd shot and killed his best friend, reminded her too much of the banked ice she often saw in Clint's gaze. The look of a man who had known betrayal, who had learned the price of trust. Of love. She didn't want to ever learn those lessons.

  As she gave the investigators her report, she watched Clint. The customers who had filled the club had been released, leaving Joe and his remaining agents, herself, and Clint. Kell and Ian had slipped out with the crowd to preserve their cover. It wasn't over. Fuentes was still out there.

  "You doing okay?" Clint moved next to her as the investigator took her signed report and moved to Joe.

  She still wore Clint's jacket pulled close around her to ward off the chill she could feel moving through her very bones.

  "I'm doing fine." She inhaled deeply, staring around the club with a sense of disbelief. "Any word on Fuentes?" "Nothing." Clint shook his head. "Jayne and her men apprehended a bastard uncle, Jose, and the nephew Santiago attempting to make their way into the private elevator that leads downstairs. They're in custody now. Manuelo managed to slip away, but Kell and Ian are looking for him."

  Morganna propped her arms on the table she was sitting at and lowered her head to push her fingers through her hair.

  "So what do we do now?" She stared around the club again, hearing the eerie echo of the officers' voices as they cleared up the final investigative process.

  Grant had been placed in a body bag and taken away, while two officers had been sent to his home to notify his wife of his death.

  "Now we wait." Clint sat down in the chair opposite her, stretching his long leather-clad legs in front of him as he watched her quietly. "And watch. He'll move again soon."

  Morganna pressed her lips together as she clenched her teeth against the curse that wanted to pass her lips. She wanted this over with, now. She wanted Fuentes caught, wanted him off the streets and behind bars. She wanted to curl into Clint's arms and assure herself that the ice lurking in the back of his gaze would melt, it would thaw, and he would find a way to stay in her life.

  Maybe it was just adrenaline overload, she thought, lifting her eyes back to him, staring into the midnight orbs and feeling her chest clench at the cold that shadowed the concern. He cared, she knew he did, but not where it mattered, not where it would keep him with her forever. And she knew it. When this operation was over, Clint would be gone, and it was breaking her heart.

  "So what next?" She pulled her eyes from his, hating the clenching pinch of pain in her chest.

  "Next, we head downstairs, eat dinner, and-"

  "I'm not hungry, Clint."

  "That's just too bad, darlin'," he drawled with silky warning. "Because I am, and I'm going to insist that you share a meal with me. Then we'll have a nice hot shower and go to bed. Where hopefully I'll get a chance to fuck the fight out of you so you can sleep peacefully in my arms."

  She stared back at him. A grin edged at his lips, crinkled the corners of his eyes, but the hand that lay on the table was tense, almost curled into a fist.

  "Don't put yourself out." Morganna rose jerkily to her feet, glaring back at him in ire.

  "Morganna." He followed suit, moving to his feet to block her way. "What's wrong?"

  What was wrong? She had watched a friend betray her, watched another's life destroyed, and it had brought home the glaring fact that the dream world she was living in was going to come crashing down around her feet any day.

  It was in Clint's eyes. In the careful deliberation he used when he "handled" her. He wanted her; he craved her physically; she was woman enough to know this. Hell, it was more than that. He loved her. He loved her so much that he would never allow himself to stay with her. The house of cards she had been building in her own heart was crumbling around her.

  "Nothing's wrong." Nothing except the truth.

  Clint wasn't a man who changed his mind often. The vasectomy she had forced herself not to think about was a nail in the coffin of her dreams.

  "Nothing's wrong." She shook her head, too worn inside to find the strength to cry. How many times had she cried? Given up? Only to turn back to him at the first opportunity. Because she continued to hope, to pray. To dream that the
love she felt for him would thaw that layer of ice she felt in his heart.

  "Baby." His hand cupped her cheek as he stared down at her in bafflement. "It's been a hell of a night. This business will break your soul if you let it. Don't let it do that to you, Morganna."

  "Like it's broken yours?" Her lips twisted painfully. "Where's your soul, Clint?"

  "Don't, Morganna." He shook his head, denying the unspoken question. "Look around you. The night has been filled with blood and betrayal. It's enough to throw a hardened man off balance. It will throw you into chaos if you let it." Her lips trembled, but not from tears. She couldn't cry. "I'm tired. I just want to sleep. I don't need sex tonight." He stared back at her broodingly. "Maybe I do. Maybe I need to feel you, Morganna, convince myself you're really safe. That this time, you weren't hurt. If you continue on in this, one of these days it's going to be your body in a morgue, your life taken. Is mat what you want? All your dreams blown to dust?"

  She reached out, her fingers trailing over his hard jaw because she couldn't help but touch him. Couldn't help but love him. When this operation was over he would be gone and she knew it. He would walk away, and when he did her. heart would follow him, just as it always had.

  Each mission she would weep and worry. Each day without him would be an eternity. Each night without him would be bleak and cold. For a while. It was going to rip her heart out, but she would live, she assured herself. Just as she always had.

  "Maybe you're right," she whispered, her fingers falling from the warmth of his skin. "Let's go fuck like there's no tomorrow, Clint."

  She saw the edgy wince at the corner of his eyes. He didn't like the explicit term when she said it. Too bad. She was tired of making love alone.

  "What are we waiting on?"

  His eyes narrowed on her, a muscle ticcing in his jaw as she felt the air between them thicken with tension.