by V. R. Marks
Another step brought her too close. Her legs brushed the inside of his thighs and her hands cradled his jaw, before drifting lightly to rest on his shoulders. Her eyes held him captive as she slowly leaned in until her lips met his in a feather-light kiss.
It wasn't much more than friendly. Might even have stayed that way. But her fingers flexed on his shoulders and her tongue darted across her lower lip.
Gun forgotten, he reached out and gripped her hips, pulling her snug against him. Her dark eyes flashed as he speared a hand into her hair and brought her mouth down to his.
She opened to him with all the heat and passion she applied to everything else. Greedy, he took the kiss deeper, losing himself in her sweet taste.
"Whoa."
Eva tried to leap away, but he held her in place. "Go away, Wade."
"Get a room, dude. Oh wait you've got one."
"Is the door done?" In his arms, Eva trembled with suppressed laughter. He should let her move, but Wade didn't deserve the satisfaction of seeing him rattled.
"Yeah. The sheriff arrived with a couple of the crime scene techs. Didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. He put out a call for you on the radio, but I guess you were too busy to hear it."
"I'd gladly beat him senseless," he whispered to Eva, "but he's dog sitting for me."
Eva twisted within his embrace until she was settled on his thigh. He barely resisted the urge to run his hands over the warm, firm curves of her backside. Desire was something he understood and recognized. But Eva redefined the word, turning it into an intense awareness. He wondered how much of her response to him was simply a result of convenience. Or worse, an infatuation with her bodyguard. The uncomfortable thoughts cooled his ardor a bit.
"How is Sheldon?"
Carson watched Wade's appreciation for Eva ratchet up another notch, matching his growing annoyance with his brother.
"Doing fine." Wade leaned against the door jamb and smiled broadly as if he didn't have anything better to do with his day than talk dog care with Eva.
The radio crackled again, and the sheriff's voice simultaneously carried through the device and up the stairs.
"Up here, Sheriff," Wade called out.
Eva scooted out of his embrace and reached for the gun. "This'll do," she said a bit louder than necessary. "Thanks."
"What are y'all doing in here?" Sheriff Cochran's scowl slid back and forth between them.
Carson stood up and gave a nod to the gun in Eva's hand. "I wanted her to be armed."
"Smart. It's a good gun. The forensic team is doing their thing, J.C." He shifted his gaze to Eva. "Did I miss Ross?"
"He just left," she replied. "What's the word on the downed guard?"
"We found him under a pile of leaves. Drugged, but otherwise uninjured."
"Good."
Carson urged everyone out of the bedroom and back to the relatively neutral territory of the kitchen. When Wade had left, Eva asked the sheriff for an update on Matheson.
"Haven't heard a thing. Take that as a good sign though."
"I will," she said.
"Did your new client give you anything helpful?"
"New client?"
Eva beamed with pride as she answered Carson. "Abraham hired me. Well, officially he hired RCI." Her delighted smile faded and her voice returned to that all-business efficiency as she gave a concise report to the sheriff. "He says Bakr sent a team of three to deal with me, but one of the men is loyal to Abe."
"Not the one I – ah – injured?"
"No." She started to pat his shoulder, but yanked her hand back.
The sheriff eyed them for a long moment. "So. One of the men involved with the kidnapping is on our side?"
"Yes."
"Where is Abe now?"
"I can't say. Special Agent Nichols is handling his security."
"That's a relief. We're spread thin enough. You two okay to stay here? We've got the perimeter in place again."
Carson glanced at her, knew the resolve in her eyes matched his own. "We're good here."
Sheriff Cochran shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Good. I'll tell Ruth that Wade did a fine job on the new door."
"Tell her I'm sorry about the cookie jar." Carson said. "I promise I'll track down a replacement."
The sheriff clapped him on the shoulder. "You're both safe. That matters most to all of us."
Chapter 9
Bakr read the text message on his phone and let the fury sweep through him. Matheson was not supposed to be rescued already.
She'd surprised him, making an astute and unexpected leap of logic.
When his nephew had been the hostage, she'd followed the breadcrumbs he'd laid out, leading her team exactly where he wanted them to go.
He wasn't sure if he should attribute the change to her increased experience, personal growth, or some other factor. Did it matter? Maybe the night that had proven so pivotal for him had been equally transforming for her.
The idea intrigued him. How could he use it against her?
He wasn't worried about the man currently in FBI custody. All three of the men he'd selected for this task would gladly die before they'd betray him. He had trained two out of the three personally, seen to their advancement and provided them all enough to live luxuriously.
They understood the rewards he'd offered for capturing the queen were greater still.
He sighed. The primary perk of this game – like any other – was adapting, effectively countering her moves, until she was cornered, with no choice but to betray that which she held dear.
Then he would have what he wanted: the queen's surrender. She would give him the information he needed to secure his place at the top of Morcos Construction and remain there for the rest of his natural life.
Without her, without the details only she could find, his reign was likely to be cut short.
It was a mere formality to be voted in by the board of directors, but those who oversaw the darker side of Morcos' interests were already impatient for him to make up for his past errors.
He picked up the phone and dialed the pilot's number. "I need a repeat of last week's route."
The pilot gave him a timeframe and Bakr hung up.
He smiled; a predator eager for the hunt.
Abraham had been the perfect son, the exemplary older brother, lauded for his leadership, asset management, and forward thinking. Naturally, he had time for all of those worthy pursuits because Bakr was doing the dirty work behind the scenes.
It had been his role within the family to support their mutual interests in this way. The second son had been groomed to attend to the less desirable tasks through generations.
He might have fought the system, but why? It functioned for the benefit of all. He had skills and a lethal edge his brother lacked. This was a game for the strong, and when Abraham showed signs of weakness, it was Bakr's duty to step in. For the greater good.
Looking out over the hard glitter of New York City, he still couldn't understand the shock and disgust in response to his own brand of innovation. They had both been trained up from birth for their respective roles. If his brother had been able to manage his weak nerves, they would have been partners for years to come.
It hadn't been pleasant to dispense with his brother, but it had been necessity.
Bakr shook off the melancholy. None of that mattered now. He was in charge, he held the company and family fortunes in his hands. They would thank him soon enough.
He paused as he passed the chess set and, knowing he'd be back soon enough, decided to leave it here. The queen who mattered most would soon tell him everything. Before, during, or possibly after he destroyed all she held dear. But she would tell him.
Returning to his desk, he drafted one more email but saved it rather than hitting send. It wouldn't be complete without a current picture.
Calling for a cab, he prepared for one last errand in the city. He could almost hear her weeping as he showed he
r his checkmate move.
* * *
Eva spent the rest of the day and into the evening working through the old files and ignoring the tingle on her lips whenever her thoughts strayed to the man in the other room. When this was over, she'd address her feelings. Right now, she had to track down Bakr before he hurt someone else from her old team.
She believed Abe's story, believed both brothers thought she knew something, but she had yet to turn up anything in the transcription to verify it. She did mental run throughs of every stage of the rescue, wondering what she'd missed then, what her mistakes would reveal now.
The flash drive was burning a hole in her pocket, but she couldn't bring herself to open it on the FBI equipment. Keeping them in the loop was one thing – defined in her mind as intel she knew before handing it to someone else. At this point, opening that drive might be spoon feeding them information they would jump on prematurely.
If Abraham had made some sketchy decisions in the course of doing business, Bakr was ten times worse. She'd suspected him of the kidnapping two years ago because it fit his MO of violent, deceitful behavior.
Now Abraham was a client and she would protect his privacy to the best of her ability. He might operate in the gray area, but the Army wouldn't have tried to assist him without good reason.
She could search the records, replay the night in her mind, but without the context of the flash drive information, she'd never understand what she was looking for. To the best of her recollection, Abe's son hadn't said anything during the rescue that shed light on the current circumstance.
"Come on." Pushing her hands into her hair, she forced herself to think about what she did know. "There's a connection."
She did an online search for poetry and literature regarding family, honor, and heart, and nothing in the search prompted anything in her memory. She would have to take a look at the flash drive.
"You want dinner in here?" Carson stood in the doorway, a plate in his hand.
Her stomach rumbled while she debated the wisdom of eating with him here or in the kitchen. Both were too domestic for her peace of mind. "Here's fine," she said as an idea struck. "We can shop for a new cookie jar for Ruth."
"You don't have more important things to do?"
"Important is relative. I'm banging my head against the proverbial wall here. I could use the distraction."
With a shrug, Carson handed her a plate with a thick wedge of lasagna, salad greens, and a slice of warm garlic toast. "Smells heavenly."
"Wish I could take credit, but I just pulled it out of the freezer."
When he returned with a plate of his own and a glass of water for each of them, she opened a browser window and started poking around at holiday websites while they ate.
"The woman is a genius," she said with a sigh.
"The cookie jar was full of snickerdoodles."
"That puts our trouble into perspective. I used to sneak those for breakfast when I was a kid."
"Good choice," he said with a chuckle.
She liked that she could make him laugh, especially after the day they'd had. "Oh, yeah. I only really got away with it when I came home from college."
"Right. Like you can't get away with anything whenever you want."
"What's that mean?"
He took another bite, chewed slowly. Why was that so damn sexy?
"I have sisters. Y'all are sneaky."
He'd turned up the dial on the southern drawl and it was her turn to laugh. "Sneaky is an important life skill." And it had served her well. "I bet you did your share of sneaking."
"Maybe."
"Aha!" She swiveled the laptop to give him a better view of the cookie jar pictured on her screen. "What do you think?"
He leaned forward. "That's it. Can we get it gift wrapped?"
"Sure. And delivered by Christmas too."
"Should we send it to the Rooster or here?"
"I vote here." She heard the hitch in his breath. "You're worried about another incident."
"What are the odds we'd lose two cookie jars to unwelcome guests?" He shrugged and unfolded himself from the chair. "Besides, we're ready as we can be."
"I can order two." He didn't laugh this time, just turned and walked back to the kitchen, with a slow shake of his head.
She placed the order online and followed him. "Go turn on a Christmas special or something. I'll do the dishes."
"I don't want to keep you –"
She turned, found him closer than she thought he'd be. Her pulse jumped. It was breakfast all over again. By some miracle she managed not to leap into his arms. "It won't bother me and you need a distraction too."
He looked at her with enough heat she thought she might combust right there.
"Go on." She cleared her throat. "I'll bring in something for dessert in a minute."
"I saw ice cream when I pulled out the lasagna."
"Deal." She shooed him out of the kitchen, pleased to catch a glimpse of his normal relaxed smile.
* * *
She really could work through any number of distractions, Carson realized, watching her pretending to be interested in the television show. Her fingers had been going, quietly tapping the keyboard, the whole time and that furrow of concentration between her brows had shown up frequently.
When the scowl hadn't let up and the reruns got boring, he encouraged her to give it a rest and head up to bed. Surprisingly, she'd agreed and shut everything down.
Carson glanced up at the soft squeaks of the floor boards as she moved from bedroom to bath and back again. He wouldn't head upstairs until he was sure she was in her room and effectively out of his reach.
He did another walk through the house, watched a late night comedian, and waited for the next scheduled check in from the guards posted outside before he even contemplated going upstairs.
That kiss was front and center in his mind unless he forcibly pushed it back. And why would he want to do that when it had been better than he'd imagined? He'd done a lot of imagining since she'd shown up in town.
It was dumb get distracted this way. Having one of Bakr's men in custody didn't mean much. There were two more out there and Bakr himself was a completely unknown variable. Any feelings he was developing for her should wait.
Her scent lingered in the bathroom, tempting him to forget waiting and go knock on her door. He really needed to get control of himself. This wasn't a romantic getaway, this was a security detail to protect her from a madman. She didn't need Carson disrupting her sleep trying to charm her out of her pajamas.
Big mistake. Now he wondered what she wore to bed. Aggravated, he finished brushing his teeth and quickly ducked into his own room across the hall. In bed, he yanked the covers to his chin and tried to think mundane thoughts that had nothing to do with Eva while he waited for sleep.
The shouting came first.
Eva's voice. A dozen scenarios raced through his head. All of them ended badly, with her disappearing. He threw back the covers grabbed his side arm and raced across the hall.
He rapped softly on the door. "Eva?"
No answer.
She was fine. She had to be. He was overreacting. The security system hadn't sounded. He turned back to his bedroom, stopping short at the sound of another shout, this one accompanied by a loud thud.
He opened the door, and turned on the light, keeping the gun ready, but down at his side. She was flopped on the floor along with half the bedding. The sight of her twisted up in the sheets might have been funny under other circumstances. Just now his body responded predictably to her the sheer white tank top and camouflage boxers while his brain tried to overpower hormones with sympathy.
Looked like a pretty bad nightmare.
"Eva!"
"Bart!" Her own voice seemed to wake her. She blinked rapidly. "Carson?"
"Got it in two." He knelt beside her. "Let me help."
She wrestled a hand free and waved him off. "I can do it." She swore softly as she extricated herself
from the mess.
"Sorry to wake you."
"No problem. I wasn't asleep."
She eyed him closely. "Is there another problem?"
"Only in here," he countered. "Nightmare?"
"No." She scooped the bedding up and he crossed to the opposite side of the bed to help her restore order.
They both knew she was lying, but he didn't want to push. The day had been bad enough without him harping on her for facts she might not be able to provide and feelings she didn't care to acknowledge.
He wasn't all that sure he could form complete sentences and he seized on the task of re-making the bed as a much-needed distraction from the way the soft cotton of her white tank top and camouflage boxer shorts clung to her curves. Knowing what type of pajamas she wore wouldn't make sleep any easier.
The woman epitomized sexy with her strong, feminine silhouette. His palms itched to touch her and learn the feel of her golden skin. His thoughts nearly beyond recovery, he might have tucked the sheets and blankets a little tighter than necessary on his side. Better to keep her in and him out.
"Fine. It was a nightmare," she confessed as they smoothed the bedspread into place.
"Uh-huh."
She slid under the covers, propping her back against the headboard and drawing her knees to her chest.
He hadn't known her long, but he'd never seen her look so young. Or sad. She'd been worried for Bart in the office, but plenty of temper had been there too.
Same at the hospital and, well, everywhere else. Whatever the day held – good or bad – it seemed like Eva greeted everything with her temper primed and ready.
It was an odd personal philosophy, he thought now, because she didn't come across as unhappy, negative, or even angry. But that willingness to do battle always gleamed in her eyes.
"My mother insists talking about it helps."
He smiled. "Mine too."
"Well, settle in, if you're willing," she said, patting the space beside her. "It's a long story."
Knowing his limits, he pulled up the rocking chair and propped his feet at the end of the bed. Any closer and he'd find a different way to help her forget her nightmare.