John leaned against the wall by a bank of elevators, two carry-on bags at his feet. They walked through the lobby, across the Defense Intelligence Agency’s seal, and out into the cold November night.
John waited as Ian flagged down a cab. As they stepped off the curb, John slapped him on the shoulder. “Feels different, doesn’t it?” He grinned. “Ready to really get to work now, partner?”
*****
10:34 p.m.
Ian Kinncaid shut the cab door. John climbed out the other side.
“I’m so bloody jet-lagged,” John complained.
“Could have stayed in London.”
He raised a brow. “And miss all this? What do you take me for?”
Ian shoved some bills at the cabby and grabbed his bag. The paper on the cheap convenience-store flowers crinkled in his hand. He’d made the cabby stop and bought two bundles. He looked at them. One was rather a sad case of mums and lilies, the other colored daisies. Looking at his friend as they walked up the lighted walkway, he said, “Johnno, be honest. You just can’t stand not being part of whatever shit I have going on.”
“Oh, that’s most definitely it.”
They walked up the steps and Ian unlocked the door.
“You could ask your parents for a key instead of picking the bloody locks.”
“Where,” he asked, “is the fun in that?”
They’d left Amsterdam at ten a.m. and arrived in D.C. at six p.m. local time. The next two hours were meetings with Pete. The leak issue still bothered him on more levels than one.
Pete hadn’t really answered him. Which was odd. He thought back over the conversation and wished he wasn’t so damn tired. He’d asked about the leak, and Pete had mentioned marriage. Why?
He knew Pete was with his second wife. They’d been married for . . . six years? Wasn’t it? At the time, back in Pete’s office, Ian had assumed his boss had merely been trying to change the topic.
But something . . .
Unless . . .
No. Surely not.
Ian shook off the thoughts and stepped into the darkened hallway.
Forget it. He was tired. Pete said he’d call. Pete would call.
Ian, on the other hand, hadn’t called Rori, and maybe he should have, but he wanted to surprise her too.
The house was dark and quiet.
“They turned in early tonight,” Ian muttered, figuring someone would still be up.
“Did you let Roth know we were coming?” John asked him.
“No,” said a voice from the shadows. Roth stepped out and holstered his firearm. “Idiots. I could have shot you.”
Ian smiled. “You wouldn’t have. You don’t shoot first and ask questions later unless the situation warrants that. And this didn’t.”
Roth grunted. “Lucky for you.”
“Where is everyone?”
Roth glared at him. “Trying to get some sleep.”
“Why, what’s been going on?”
Roth said, “First off, your brother and sister-in-law had their baby. Girl, get the details from your mother. Or your dad.” Roth shook his head. “Never seen such a camera-happy man. Secondly, Darya’s usually up several times a night screaming.”
Ian didn’t wait for the rest, but hurried up the stairs, the bag in one hand, the flowers in the other. At the top, he walked quickly down the hallway to his daughter’s door. Pushing it gently open, he saw that the lamp on the dresser cast a soft glow on the room. Rori slept in a chair beside the bed, half lying on the bed, her hand on Darya’s chest. On the nightstand stood bottles of medicine and tissues. A thermometer. Quietly, he set the bag down by the door, laid the flowers on top of it. He walked across the room and stood beside the bed looking down at his daughter, covered with the blue comforter.
Her cheeks were flushed, and in her hand, atop the cover, was clasped the photo he’d given her. From the crinkled edges, it appeared she’d never let go of the thing. He reached out and put his hand to her forehead. She was burning up. Worry thrummed through him.
Rori jerked.
“Easy,” he whispered, laying his hand atop hers.
Rori’s eyes opened and she sat up, stretching. “You’re home.”
Home . . .
He looked at her, sitting here exhausted beside their sick daughter.
He nodded. “Yeah, I’m home.”
“Thank God. Everything went all right, then?” she asked, putting her hand to Darya’s forehead and then checking her watch. “Another hour and we can give her something else.”
“What the hell is going on?” he asked quietly, sitting on Darya’s other side.
“Well, your daughter hasn’t eaten a single bite since you left. We’ve managed to get some water in her and now meds, but she wouldn’t eat. Hardly slept. Just kept watching for you.”
He ran his hand over Darya’s dark curls scattered over the white pillowcase. His daughter . . .
“I’ve been gone for over forty-eight hours. She was that sick?”
Rori chuckled. “We don’t know if she was already coming down with something or if the combination of stress, her not eating, and not sleeping triggered the illness.” She shrugged and brushed her hand down Darya’s flannel-clad arm. “Your mother mentioned it could have been anything.”
He frowned and felt Darya’s face again. “She’s too hot.”
Rori nodded. “Yeah, goes up and down. Anywhere from ninety-nine to one-oh-three or four.”
“What?” The worry turned to fear. “Did you take her to the doctor?”
Both her brows rose. “I called your mother, who did her doctor thing, called some antibiotics in this afternoon and told me what to do.”
His mother. He relaxed slightly.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, worry still winding through his blood.
“S’all right. I just didn’t know what the hell to do. Asked Becky, called your mom. Vented to Nikko and then to Roth.” Her hands rubbed her short hair. “I didn’t know what the bloody hell to do. I mean, she’s so little, and what do I know of kids?”
He reached across the bed and pulled her to him, kissing her softly on the mouth. “You did fine. Go get some sleep. I’ll watch her for a while.”
Rori frowned. “You’re jet-lagged. I can see it.” She shook her head. “You rest. I’ll give her the grape medicine in another forty-five minutes, and then when it goes back down, I’ll catch a few z’s.”
Ian just watched her, noted her eyes were shadowed, the skin on her own cheeks a bit pale. “I slept on the plane. Fourteen hours and I was tired. I got at least six, which looks like more than you.”
She looked exhausted, disgruntled, and adorable. He smiled.
“What?” she snapped, frowning.
“You look wonderful.” And she did. “And I missed you.”
Shaking her head, she stood, then walked around the bed, leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Wake me in four hours.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“Night.”
“Night.”
He looked at his daughter. Sitting on the bed, he pulled her into his lap and held her. Her hot face and head heated his neck and collarbone. He kissed the curls atop her head.
It was good to be home. And he’d make certain she got better as soon as possible.
“Hey, sweetie, Daddy’s home.”
Chapter 29
November 20, 7:29 a.m.
The next morning after breakfast, his phone rang. Ian answered.
“Hello?”
“You wanted an update.” Pete’s voice, always devoid of emotion, seemed hollow, even for him.
“Just a minute.” He nodded to Rori and walked out the double doors leading outside. “Okay.”
“That loose end we discussed has just been cut.”
Just like that. Anger and the fact he was denied justice licked through him, quick as a rattler. “You promised me a name.” He raked his hands through his hair. “Damn it, Pete. I had a right to know.”
“Yes, you did. And so did others.”
“Pete.”
“Ian.”
“What?”
For a moment, the man didn’t answer him, then he said, “I don’t have time for this. I have a funeral to plan.”
Ian blinked, shook his head. “What? I mean. Hell, I’m sorry, Pete. For wh-who?” Strange, they’d worked so long together, knew such dark things about the other, and yet knew so little.
Again the silence.
“The woman I trusted . . . my wife.”
Ian frowned, then pulled back. The loose end . . . Pete’s wife? Ian wasn’t exactly surprised. Sometimes it was those closest, but still . . .
“Uh—Pete. I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“I would have . . .” Helped seemed the wrong word. Damn.
Pete cleared his throat. “It was a matter I had to see to personally.”
With that, the man hung up.
Ian took a deep breath, a chill dancing down his back.
Just when he thought he was as far into the darkness as he could go, he was reminded there were shadows he still hadn’t journeyed.
It was a matter I had to see to personally . . .
And those shadows Ian didn’t want to visit. Ever.
Turning back around, he looked through the doors at Darya wrapped in a quilt on the couch, leaning against Rori.
Maybe, just maybe their lives could get on the right track now.
Whatever that track was. He didn’t want to push it. Didn’t know, suddenly, what the hell to do. What did he do?
About anything?
He had no orders. No one needed to be found right this moment . . .
Rori looked up at him and smiled.
And then he knew. Ian opened the door and walked into the living room just as his parents came in.
“You two simply have to go to the hospital,” his mother said. “Have you gotten your brother and Taylor anything?” she asked.
Ian shook his head and shut the door behind him. “I thought I was supposed to get the baby something.”
Rori didn’t turn to look, but he caught her grin as she watched the television and stroked her hand over Darya’s head.
His mother handed him a piece of paper. “Go take a shower, take your wife out. We’ll watch Darya.”
He looked at the paper and saw it was a list. “What is this?”
His mother shrugged. “Things Darya needs.”
Dollhouse. Barbies. Books. Several stuffed animals. Bedding (something pink or purple—though blue or silver would work).
His mother tapped the bottom of the list. “If you don’t want to pick out the bedding, that’s fine. Rori and I can go sometime next week.”
Ian shook his head. Rori jerked around and met his gaze. He caught the plea in her eyes.
He wiggled a brow at her and turned to his mother. “Well, you know us men. We’re likely to choose the wrong fabric or color or something.”
She nodded. “I know.” His mother glanced over at the couch. “Rori and I will get what we need Monday or something.” She put her hand on his arm. “Now go and get ready. I’d also like you to pick up some nice flowers before dinner tonight.”
“We need more fever-reducer medicine . . . whatever it’s called,” Rori said, standing.
Darya was asleep on the couch. Ian shook his head. “I just got back. I don’t want to go out again, Mother.”
“Bah. Go see your brother and the baby. Aiden and Jesslyn went by, but Brayden’s in Louisiana and you just got home.”
“Quinlan?” he ventured. “You should let him know—”
Her green eyes narrowed on him. “He’s been by. Last night. Promised to come tonight to dinner. He called earlier and said he was bringing a date.”
Jock muttered something that sounded vaguely like a hired woman.
Ian hid his grin, leaned over and said, “Mother, I love you, but—”
“No buts, go see your brother. If you leave now”—she glanced over her shoulder at Darya and then back to him—“she’ll be asleep most of the time you’re gone.” Her eyebrow rose. “You worried I can’t take care of a sick child?”
He knew better than to argue that one. “I couldn’t trust anyone more with her health, Mom.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Some mothers might take issue with that wording. Considering the goings-on of late, I’ll just leave it alone.”
He laughed and pulled her close, kissing her on her forehead. “Well, I just learned the leak was found and taken care of, so the guards will be leaving.”
“Thank God,” his mother said, patting his chest and taking a deep breath.
“Who?” his father asked.
Ian looked at Rori as he said, “I don’t know. They just let me know the matter was taken care of.” Squeezing his mother, he added, “I decided to leave that alone and take it at face value.”
No one said anything for a moment. Then his mother said, “So Roth will be leaving?”
He chuckled. “Not just yet.”
Jock asked, “Why not? You said guards.”
“Not my men.”
At his parents’ confused looks he added, “Tanner, Roth, and several others work for John and me. Or they do now.”
“What?” his father asked.
Ian shook his head. “Never mind. Just know, Roth will be here a bit more. Tanner is staying with Brayden, Snake with Gav, and Gar with Quinlan.”
“Why?” his mother asked.
He looked at Rori. “We should get going if we’re going to go to town and get back before dinner.”
They quickly walked out of the room before his parents bombarded them with more questions. To save time, they shared the shower, their bodies melding, sliding, holding and reaching until both moaned, peaked, and shuddered in the aftermath.
Ian stood in the bedroom, tucking his shirt in, and watched Rori—his wife—put lotion on. A simple thing that. Over-the-counter white lotion. She sat on the bed, her hands rubbing down her leg, gliding her knee, sliding over her thigh, grazing her belly before she squirted more and then rubbed it into one arm, then the other.
She glanced at him. “What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She grinned. “Too bad we don’t have all afternoon to ourselves.”
He laughed and pulled her to him, kissing her again, feeling the cool lotion, her hot body molding against his.
“We don’t have time,” she said and pushed against him, and he let her go.
“Tonight.”
She grinned over her shoulder, her naked back long and lean, graceful as a dancer’s, her backside and thighs as tight as a Vegas line girl’s. Damn.
*****
5:06 p.m.
Quinlan Kinncaid drove the car. He kept rubbing his head. She watched him.
“Headache?” she asked, sliding her hand over the console and touching his arm.
He nodded. “Yeah, again.” He blinked and shook his head.
“Why don’t you let me drive?” she tried. This would be all she fucking needed. This damn close and he wrecks the car, all because he was a male and thus had to drive.
“We’re almost there,” he said, shaking his head again.
Alla shrugged and looked out the window. At least she’d taken care of the guard, Gar, while Quinlan had dressed for the evening. If anyone found the man, he might live, but the sedative dose had been high. She’d stuffed him in the spare room in Quinlan’s penthouse.
Reaching down for her purse, she opened it partway, saw the 9-millimeter Glock inside, and smiled. Reaching past it, she pulled out her pill bottle. “I’ve got some aspirin. Would you like some?”
The man was so predictable. He shook his head.
Taking the female approach, she said, “Please, for me. I don’t want to meet your family practically alone, and if you’re nursing a killer headache, you’ll look like you hired me to come along. I don’t want your parents thinking I’m a whore.” She held the white pills
aloft in her hand.
They looked like aspirin. She had wanted them to, with the same initial coating so that they tasted the same—or rather had no taste at all.
But the ingredients were very different and practically tasteless, an accomplishment for her lab techs. Something the drug market and vice scene would love.
Ecstasy plus roofies. Basically. Bit of enhancement thrown in to keep things ready. The chemical makeup had to be altered a bit. But the feel-good of X with the disinhibiter of roofies and the ready-to-go of Viagra made for a wondrous little pill.
She could fuck someone all night long, and they wanted it. And the poor souls didn’t really remember all the details the next morning.
The bright side? Supposedly the downer wasn’t as bad as X. She should make a killing off this little creation.
But then her techs were still trying to perfect it. She wanted buyers, not diers.
He finally took the pills and glanced at her with a narrowed gaze, as if trying to decide, then tossed them back.
He’d already had two others half an hour ago in his coffee. Hopefully he wouldn’t have a reaction. But if he did . . . then she’d deal with it.
She smiled at him and leaned over, the shoulder harness pulling on her, and kissed his cheek, then wiped her lipstick off. “Hope they help.”
He nodded and stared at the road as he turned off. He shook his head again.
“Quinlan, quit being a man and just let me drive. You don’t feel well, and if you pass out, we could both be injured.” He nodded, slowed and put the car in park.
“Poor baby.” She glanced either way down the driveway. A house sat back beyond the trees and no one was behind them.
She climbed out of the car and walked around. By the time she opened the driver’s door, he was already half unconscious. Smiling, she leaned into the backseat and grabbed her shoulder bag with the lovely little bomb in it. Time to get to work before meeting the family . . .
*****
Ian held on to the “oh shit” bar as Rori took another curve. “Damn it, slow down.”
She laughed. “God, I miss driving. And I just have to say, this right side of the road is really off. You Yanks should have stayed with the left.”
Deadly Games Page 30