Off the Grid

by Monica McCarty

  “You’re right, but that’s because my guys are trained. They are some of the most elite operatives in the world. You are a reporter!”

  “I trust you and whoever you are talking to on the phone to protect me.”

  He didn’t deserve or want that kind of trust. “It’s not going to happen, Brit.”

  “If I were anyone else, you wouldn’t be acting like this. You are letting your personal feelings blind you to what needs to be done. This isn’t just about you; it’s about the other survivors as well.”

  She was right about his personal feelings. She was Brand’s sister; he’d promised to look out for her, and using her as bait sure as hell didn’t qualify.

  But he knew that wasn’t all of it.

  “I want to do this, John. Not just for me or you or your teammates, but for Brandon. If there is a way I can find out who is responsible for his death, I have to do it. You can see that, can’t you?”

  No. He wasn’t seeing anything right now except her lying in a pool of blood, and that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen. He was breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

  But he wasn’t as deaf or blind to her argument as he wanted to be. She was right. If it were anyone else, he might consider it. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was her, and she was . . .

  Fuck.

  She must have seen the slight opening and gone in for the kill. “Call the guy you are always talking to on the phone. See what he says. If he thinks it’s a good idea, we go forward.”

  “No.”

  “John, you are being—”

  He cut her off. “If he thinks it’s a good idea, I’ll consider it. But only if I can be sure that nothing can go wrong.”

  But he knew that was impossible. Something always went wrong.

  Twenty

  John stared down at the clouds from the airplane’s small window and wondered what the hell he was doing. How had he let them talk him into this?

  He hadn’t slept the entire eight-hour flight from Copenhagen into Toronto. He was too on edge, and his head was spinning.

  He wasn’t thinking about his travel documents (they should hold up) or about sneaking across the porous Canadian border into the US (which was almost child’s play with his training), or even about returning to Washington, DC, where he’d spent enough time to know exactly how dangerous it would be for him to be there.

  He was thinking about the promise he’d made to Brand if anything were to happen to him. Somehow John didn’t think using his sister as bait qualified as watching out for her. He didn’t want to think about the earlier “stay away from her” promise he’d already broken.

  Twice. Pretty spectacularly.

  He looked down at the head resting against his shoulder and felt something inside his chest hitch right up to his throat. He’d probably break that promise a third time, as it seemed he had no control when it came to the woman sleeping like a baby without a care in the world next to him.

  Brittany was putting way too much trust in him, and it was making him uneasy. Despite his joking to the contrary, he wasn’t Superman. He didn’t have any special powers. If something went wrong, there was no guarantee he’d be able to keep her safe.

  The now-familiar knot of fear twisted in his gut again. He’d be lucky if he came out of this little op with just an ulcer.

  Him. The guy with no cares in the world and who never let anything get to him. An ulcer. The world had turned upside down. Or rather, his world had turned upside down since Brittany had walked into that bar.

  She made a small sound of contentment in her sleep and shifted against him. He felt a wave of something powerful crash over him, dragging him down a black hole he wasn’t sure he could pull out of—even if he wanted to.

  He was in trouble. He’d let himself get too close. He cared too much.

  Which made him something he’d never been in his life: unsure of himself. In other words, exactly the opposite of how he usually was when heading into an op.

  This wasn’t good; it wasn’t good at all.

  Brittany shifted again, waking up this time when the flight attendant call buttons chimed and the pilot came on to announce their initial descent.

  The instant smile on her face when she looked at him only increased the unease gnawing in his gut. He should have ended it when he’d had the chance, letting her think he’d slept with someone at the bar. But he hadn’t been able to make himself do it. Not this time.

  “Did you sleep at all?” she asked.

  “A little.”

  She gave him a frown that told him she knew he was lying. “I thought you said it was going to be a long day when we got there and we needed sleep.” It was true; his mind just hadn’t cooperated. “Are you still mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad at you.” He wasn’t. He was mad at himself for agreeing to this.

  Brittany smiled. “Not even for ganging up on you?”

  John should have known better than to run it by the LC. Taylor thought using Brittany to trap the people who were after her—and possibly therefore connected to what happened to them—was a great idea. In fact, he’d been pissed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

  “I’m worried, Brit. Not angry.”

  “I didn’t think you got worried.”

  He didn’t. Except apparently when it came to her. “Yeah, well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  They didn’t even have a fully formed plan. The LC said he was still getting everything in place. John’s job was to get them both to Washington, DC. Taylor would see them there and fill John in on the rest then.

  He wasn’t all that surprised to learn that the LC would be meeting them in DC. John didn’t know where the other survivors had scattered for operational security reasons. But he’d suspected Taylor was in the US. Maybe even in DC, tracking down leads.

  When the wheels hit the ground in Canada, John’s twitchiness only got worse. He was back on the grid and the clock was ticking. He just hoped to hell time didn’t run out.

  For both of them.

  * * *

  • • •

  Brittany was glad for every hour of sleep she’d gotten on that plane. By the time she opened the door to the big conference hotel John had picked near Dulles Airport, she felt as if she’d been on every mode of transportation between DC and Toronto for the past fifteen hours, including a boat, a train, a bus, a couple of taxis, and a pair of very tired feet that had walked more miles than she wanted to count.

  It had been an adventure, all right, and she was exhausted. She wished she could have gone back to her apartment, but that was out of the question until John and whoever he was working with made sure it was safe.

  She took a nice long bath—for real this time, as she was too tired to work—while John made a call. He was still on the phone, talking in muffled monosyllables, when she came back into the room, dragging a comb through her still damp hair. He glanced over, taking in her borrowed terry robe and slippers with an amused grin. Hey, that was what they were there for. And they were comfy.

  She sat on the edge of the bed while he finished, only half-listening. She knew he wasn’t going to say anything that he didn’t want her to hear. He would have left the room to make the call otherwise. He’d fill her in later on what he thought she needed to know, which probably wasn’t anything close to what she wanted to know.

  She’d finished combing her hair and started to put lotion on her legs when he ended the call. He was staring at her legs with an unmistakable gleam in his eye, which sent a tickle of warmth running up her thighs.

  “You’re distracting,” he said accusingly.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Depends on how tired you are.”

  “I’m pretty tired.”

  “Then bad.”

  She smiled. “You gonna fill me in on
what’s happening?”

  “In a minute. I need a shower.”

  He didn’t take much longer than that. She was still rubbing in lotion when he came back out, a towel slung around his waist.

  Low around his waist.

  She took a long, slow eyeful, letting her gaze trail over the broad shoulders, muscular arms, and tanned washboard stomach, searching for a flaw. There wasn’t one. He was, as the phrase went, seriously put together. What was that men’s fitness magazine? He could be on the cover.

  And from the grin on his face, he knew exactly what his incredible body was doing to her.

  She shot him a glare, knowing why that towel was slung so low. It was sexy as hell and gave her a glimpse of his low ab muscles, which led right to . . .

  He gave her a suggestive lift of an eyebrow. “Still tired?”

  She tore her eyes away from that happy trail. She couldn’t let him win that easily; he would be unbearable. Or, as he was already unbearable, more unbearable.

  She yawned, taking in those killer abs as if they were the most boring thing in the world when all she wanted to do was slide her fingertips up and down and count every tight rope of muscle. “Yep. I can barely keep my eyes open.”

  “Is that so?” he drawled, with a smile that reminded her of a gunslinger daring his opponent to go ahead and make his day. “Anything I can do to wake you up a little?”

  His gaze lowered to the opening of her robe, landing in a place between her legs that turned her insides to quicksand. Just the thought of what he was suggesting was enough to make her hot. She had to squeeze her thighs together a little not to quiver with anticipation. The thought of his mouth and tongue on her the way she might have imagined more than once . . .

  Oh God, she couldn’t help it. Her body quivered.

  He saw the movement and gave her one of those “I have you right in the palm of my hand” smiles.

  Not so fast. She wasn’t going to fall to pieces just because he said he would go down on her. She had her pride, didn’t she?

  At least a few minutes’ worth. She forced her thoughts away from slow nuzzles and long slides of tongue.

  And gunslingers with big guns.

  “How about you tell me the plan?” she said with an impressive matter-of-factness.

  He lifted an eyebrow and closed the distance between them. “I didn’t take you for a play-by-play dirty talker, but if that’s what you want. First I’m going to put my mouth—”

  She pushed him away with an embarrassed laugh. “Not that plan. What’s happening tomorrow? Is everything ready for us? Did we get the green light?”

  His eyes narrowed dramatically, and the arms she’d been doing her best not to admire too openly might have flexed a little. She must have sounded too excited.

  “This isn’t fun, it isn’t exciting, and it sure as hell isn’t a damned TV show. It’s dangerous. Got that? Dangerous.”

  Okay, maybe the green-light business was a little Hollywood, but she was just getting into the spirit. She resisted the urge to say “Copy that.” She didn’t think he’d appreciate the attempt at humor. Which was odd, as he was exactly the guy who should. Keeping things light when things were dangerous was his job. His pranks were legendary. But he was pretty much Mr. Stone Face humorless right now. And wound up way too tight. He needed to relax. But she was smart enough not to tell him that.

  “Dangerous,” she repeated. “Got it. I promise to be suitably terrified the whole time. Now will you tell me?”

  He gave her a look that told her he knew she was humoring him. Sitting on the bureau opposite where she sat on the bed, he crossed his arms and stared at her intimidatingly for a few moments.

  She forced herself to keep a suitably contrite and serious look on her face. It wasn’t easy. Something about this angry, overbearing, way-too-serious John Donovan made her want to push and see what it revealed. Although she’d vowed not to try to pin him down on his feelings for her this time, they were becoming more obvious each day they spent together.

  But as heady as it was realizing that he cared for her, Brittany knew it was far more than John admitting his feelings working against them. There were also their respective jobs. She couldn’t imagine a life of secrets, his history with women (lots of them), his hang-up about her being Brandon’s sister, and the fact that he was in hiding because someone had tried to kill him—and was now maybe targeting her. Yeah, there was that.

  Which brought her back to the plan. Her restraint paid off when he spoke. “The guys who will be watching your apartment will be in place tomorrow. We’ll head over in the morning to retrieve your phone and computer. You will call, text, and e-mail everyone at work, letting them know that you are meeting your source tomorrow, who has promised to give you something ‘explosive.’ That should pique the interest of anyone listening. We’ll set up a drop with our guys covering and hopefully whoever has been following you will show up to spring the trap.”

  “Who are these guys? Can you trust them?”

  “I trust hardly anyone right now. But I’ve been assured by someone I do trust that they are the best. But if you want to back out, just say the word.”

  Clearly that was exactly what he was hoping she would do.

  “I don’t want to back out,” she said.

  “If you change your mind at any time, all you have to do is say the word. But you’ll be well covered. Your job is just to go about your day and try to act as natural as possible.”

  “And what will you be doing?”

  “Not letting you out of my sight.”

  That was what she’d figured. “And don’t you think anyone is going to wonder why I have a six-foot-four bodyguard following me?”

  “No one will notice I’m there.”

  She gave a sharp laugh. “Um, you kind of stick out, Johnny.”

  He frowned. “You can tell people I’m your boyfriend.”

  “Right.” She rolled her eyes at the obvious. “Like anyone will believe that.”

  He looked indignant. “Why wouldn’t they?”

  Was he serious? Oddly enough, he seemed to be. “You’re kind of hot.”

  Actually, there was no “kind of” about it.

  “So are you.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, but it’s a level-of-hotness thing. Me, I’m about here.” She leveled her hand at waist level. “You are here,” she said, lifting it above her head.

  “That’s superficial bullshit.” He honestly looked pissed off. “Are you with me because of how I look?”

  “It sure doesn’t hurt.”

  He didn’t seem to appreciate her flip response, and she wondered when he stood up to reach for his clothes if maybe she’d hurt him unintentionally. He had to know how incredible he was. Didn’t he?

  She grabbed his arm to stop him. “Of course I’m not. I like being with you because of how you make me feel, not how you look. From the first time you sat down on the beach next to me five years ago, you made me laugh. You make me . . . I don’t know, better somehow. Calmer. More relaxed? You slow me down and make me want to smell the roses—or get a cat.”

  He didn’t get that one. “A cat?”

  She flushed. “I’ve always wanted a cat or a dog”—or a boyfriend—“but I’ve never had the time.” Fearing she’d revealed too much, she turned the conversation back. “But other people won’t see any of that.”

  Her words seem to mollify him. “Good,” he said gruffly. “And you don’t need to worry about convincing anyone. It will be obvious to anyone who sees how I look at you.”

  He pulled her up against him, and from the heated intensity in his eyes she guessed he was giving her a demonstration.

  “And how’s that?” she said, her voice suddenly husky.

  “Like you are mine and I can’t wait to get inside your pants.”

  “I hate to state th
e obvious, but I’m not wearing any pants.”

  “Hmm . . .” Which in her imagination actually kind of sounded like “yum.” “Is that so?”

  It didn’t take much for him to slide his hand under her robe and continue the hands-on demonstration.

  Very effectively. It nearly convinced her.

  She groaned when he cupped her possessively, his finger dipping between her legs with the confidence of a man who already knew her body and was staking a claim. A very deep, penetrating, and thorough claim.

  Her robe slid off her shoulders as he gave her a few more thrusts of his finger before laying her back on the bed and replacing it with his tongue.

  He took her apart bit by bit. Nuzzling, delving, and flicking until she had nowhere to go. Until her heels dug into his back and her thighs clenched around his face as he finally gave her the pressure and friction that sent her soaring over the edge. He devoured her ecstasy with his mouth, making sounds as if he couldn’t get enough.

  Turned out, he couldn’t. He took her over the edge again before he let her take a breath.

  But she had her revenge. Deciding he looked a little bit too much like the proverbial cat who ate the canary, she sat up on the edge of the bed, lifted him to his feet, and pulled off his towel.

  What she was interested in was right at mouth level and looking like it might need a little lightening of the pressure. It was thick and hard and very, very red.

  “Poor baby,” she said, making commiserating sounds over his obvious discomfort. She looked up at him coyly. Their eyes met, and for maybe the first time in her life she felt as sexy as any femme fatale. “I think you mentioned a rain check on that lesson?”

  His expression was so fierce and his jaw clenched so tightly he couldn’t even get out the words. Instead, he groaned as her mouth covered him.

  It turned out she didn’t need much of a lesson after all. All she had to do was follow the sounds, clenches, and pulsing throbs of a very long and bulging vein.

  The latter she did with her tongue. A slow, delicious pull from root to tip that ended with her taking that big blunt plum in her mouth and milking him until he came with a fierceness that undid them both.