by Dawn Atkins
She didn’t. She just moved her hand faster, pumping his flesh, waiting until every muscle in his body tensed, his head jerked back, his legs shook.
His hand went to her wrist, stilling her.
“It’s all right,” she whispered at the shell of his ear. “I’ve got you.”
He let go.
When he came, it was quiet. Banked so tightly, she wondered if it physically hurt him. She continued to move her hand, but far more gently now. Releasing him wasn’t easy. She walked to the second sink, washed her hands then dampened a washcloth. She handed it to him. He didn’t say anything, or even look at her.
Feeling suddenly shy, she turned her back to him while she dressed. It felt weird to put on her jeans, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
When she turned around again, he was in everything but his shoes. “Boone?”
Finally, he looked at her. Straight on. With his elegant green eyes and his dark, thick lashes. “Yeah?” he asked.
“Thanks.”
He breathed in and out, his nostrils flaring slightly. Then he gave her that half smile of his. “We’re a team.”
She smiled back. “You bet.”
“I’m gonna do another quick check of the house. You want to come, or stay in here?”
“Come.”
“Let’s lock and load.”
HE WATCHED THEM,WISHINGhe could move the cameras so he could see her better. She was losing it. The blood had been a stroke of genius. And when he killed Boone in front of her eyes? That would be the crowning moment of his plan. She’d be his, then. And she’d do exactly as she was told.
THEY MOVED THE MATTRESS FROM the guest bed to the floor of the living room. Christie never left his side. When he went to the kitchen, there she was. When he ran his equipment around the front door, she stood patiently waiting, even though he knew she had to be exhausted. The physiological comedown from the shock of finding the blood would drain her of energy. Add to that the bath and the massage, and she should be out cold.
He was counting on that. He needed to look at his video, and he didn’t want to wait until morning. If there were any chance of identifying this asshole, he wanted it now.
He had to keep pulling himself back to the job, ignoring what had happened in the bathroom. It didn’t mean anything. She’d given him comfort, just as he’d given that to her. And it was done. Over.
The house checked out, although Boone didn’t have the same confidence in his equipment after the break-in. He just kept things low and slow, and if the geek was watching, he wouldn’t see anything Boone didn’t want him to see.
Unless there was some kind of camera Boone couldn’t detect in the bathroom. But then, even if it did give him the major wiggins, if the geek had watched them in there, so much the better. It would inflame him to make a move, to make a mistake. Which was not something he was going to share with Christie.
She finished putting the covers on the mattress while he got out a flashlight and set it where she could find it easily in the dark. Everything was done. All that was left was bed.
Jesus, it had been unbelievable with just her hand. What would it be like to have it all? To take what he really wanted?
No, no. Hold it, soldier. He’d gone into that bathtub to give her what she needed. Safety. Comfort. Relaxation. It hadn’t been about sex. He hadn’t even touched her in any sensitive areas.
He wasn’t used to this. Where he traveled, the way he lived, there was no safety. Very little comfort. And relaxation usually came after a lot more alcohol than he cared to admit. But he was responsible for this woman. For keeping her alive and well.
She made it awfully tempting, though. Even with her skinny legs and her tiny little wrists, she got to him. It hurt, how badly he wanted to squash that bug of a geek who was after her. In order to do that, he had to keep his eye on the prize. He had to get her ready, make her an ally, not a liability. He had to incite the geek to rage, to make him come into the trap. And he had to make sure he was on task 24/7.
Unfortunately, the way to get the geek into position was going to seriously test Boone’s ability to stay focused.
“Hey, you okay?”
Boone blinked. Christie was standing by the bed, hands on her hips, hair all over the place. He smiled, but only for a second. “Let’s get some sleep.”
“You’re one weird dude, you know that?”
“It’s been mentioned.”
“So that’s it? We just go to sleep?”
“Best thing we can do,” he said as he stood up, to the dismay of Milo. “We need to be sharp. All in.”
“Well, for that, I’d need to have a month in Tahiti—is that on your agenda?”
“Sorry, wish I could help.”
She sighed. Looked down at her feet. “Ever slept in your boots, Boone?”
“More times than I can count.”
“I guess sneakers shouldn’t be a problem, huh?”
“I think you’ll be okay without them. Just leave them untied and ready to go.”
“Nah. If they keep me awake, I’ll reconsider.”
“Sounds good. Now climb in.”
She looked around her house, then at Milo. “Come on, boy. You get shotgun. Pardon the pun.”
Milo walked around the bed, delicately sidestepping the overhanging covers. He turned in two circles, then curled into a ball, watching Christie with clear, clever eyes.
Christie pushed back the covers and climbed in. She pulled them up her neck, but Boone could see her discomfort, even underneath the blankets. He didn’t blame her, but he hoped her exhaustion would take precedence over her fear. The only thing he could give her now was a body and a weapon at the ready. He slipped off his shoes, and he moved in next to her.
She faced Milo. Boone faced the front door. He could hear her breathing, could feel her tension. Milo licked some part of his body for longer than seemed necessary, and then, after a soft chuff, fell silent. Boone went through the scene again. Not the one in the bathroom. The one in her bedroom.
He went step-by-step through each move the geek would have taken to make it happen. He thought about where he’d put the camera and where he’d put the microphones. Boone knew without a doubt that there would be no fingerprints, no trace evidence at all. The fake blood was easy to make from common ingredients found in any supermarket. Even if the geek jerked off, which he probably had, he’d have been careful about that, too. No evidence. Nothing for the police.
But this asshole didn’t fear the police. He didn’t fear anything. Because he knew more than the cops. He was a spook, a ghost, someone who’d been into the tradecraft long enough to learn the tricks and the traps. But he was unstable, a stalker. Which probably meant he was an ex-spook.
How had he met Christie? At a party? A bar? She may have smiled at him once, in passing. Sometimes that’s all it took for a stalker to become obsessed. Or maybe it had been more. A date, several dates.
Nate had said she was picky, that she didn’t suffer fools. She’d probably dated the geek, didn’t like what she saw, and she’d kicked him to the curb.
Christie shifted, and he stopped breathing so he could listen. He had no idea how much time had passed since they’d laid down, but it was evidently long enough for her to find sleep. He closed his eyes for a moment, just feeling her body heat. They weren’t touching. The mattress was a king, which gave them some room. He wished it were a twin.
No, he didn’t. If they’d been forced together it would have made it much more difficult for him to climb out without waking her. He would wait until she had a chance to get into REM sleep, when it would be most difficult to wake her. That was approximately forty-five minutes.
As the minutes ticked by, it wasn’t the geek he thought about. Not the tape he was going to view. It was Christie’s hand. The feel of her skin. How her muscles had relaxed underneath his steady pressure. Her hair had been swept up with some kind of wooden pin, and he’d stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out exactly how i
t worked. It didn’t matter. the important thing was that he could see her neck so clearly. It was a lovely, slim neck. Long, delicate. Her shoulders were small, too. Such a small person.
Women in general knocked him out, but touching her had made him feel so goddamn protective. He’d never tell her that, though. She needed to feel strong. Powerful.
The geek wouldn’t get within ten feet of her, but still, she deserved to feel sure that she could take care of herself. That no man, no maniac, could take her against her will.
It would take a lot more training than he’d be able to give her. But he’d encourage her to continue once he was gone. To give herself that gift.
He listened again, her soft breath coming easily, steadily. It was still too soon. And she was too close.
Christ, why had he gotten into that tub with her? He’d thought it would help. That it would make things easier. He was a moron.
Somehow, he made it through until he felt sure she wouldn’t rouse. He got out of the bed as stealthily as if he were walking into enemy territory, and had a target painted on his back. Milo wasn’t impressed.
The two of them went into the bathroom, with a quick stop first to pick up his equipment bag. Once there, Boone sat on the toilet again, seat down, light dim. He pulled out a portable VCR that ran on batteries. Then he put the tape in.
The camera was motion-triggered. But the first motion on the tape wasn’t the geek. It was Christie. And she was in her bra and panties.
Boone fast-forwarded. The light went off, and the light stayed off, but that was okay, because the camera had infrared. It wouldn’t give Boone a clear picture of the man, but it would give him a lot of intel. How big, what build, what equipment, how he was dressed, how he got in. And out.
And, like magic, there he was.
8
CHRISTIE WOKE when she kicked him. Boone didn’t move an inch. She had no idea what time it was. Not too early, because the sun streaming through her living room blinds was strong. Milo snuffled, then rose, walking toward the kitchen without a backward glance. She stared at Boone.
He was such a puzzle of a man. Nothing like Nate. At least not where women were concerned. She had no illusions about her late brother. He’d been born a hound dog and he’d died one. If there was a woman within a fifty-mile radius, he knew about it, and he didn’t let man or war get in the way. Not that the women had complained. Christie felt sure every one of them had fond memories of their brief stints with Nate. She also felt sure that wherever he was, he was smiling and remembering each and every one.
Which was exactly what she’d expected of Boone. They were buddies, pals, and they did their secret work in secret places together, side by side. Surely they’d whored together, too.
She watched his eyes move behind his lids. What was he dreaming about? Some mission in Panama? Or the Balkans? Or Iraq? Or was it one of his other conquests?
She liked his face. Oddly, his nose was on the small side, but it worked. His lips, now they were something. And man, did he know how to use them.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, his lips parted and she glimpsed his teeth, so straight she knew he’d had braces as a boy. Her gaze moved back to his eyes. Still darting about. And his lashes. Geez, they were long. She’d love lashes like that. They fanned out in perfect arcs, and when they were standing outside in the sun, they cast perfect little shadows above his cheeks.
Altogether a very doable guy. Who had slept next to her all night without even the slightest nudge. Weird.
Milo whined from the kitchen, and Christie climbed off the mattress as carefully as she could. Despite what lay behind her bedroom door, she wasn’t nearly as scared now, not in the light. So she went to feed her dog, give him fresh water and start the coffee.
He’d been feeding her. Boone, not Milo. Feeding her vegetables and fruits and blender concoctions and pasta. He was obsessed with health, and all she could think of was chocolate. Not just any chocolate, but Godiva chocolate, in the little gold box. Well, boxes. As many as she could hold. But of course, with all the training and all the shooting, and all the blood all over her bed, there wasn’t time to go to the mall. Yeah, she had the Twinkies, but it wasn’t the same.
She shivered as she dished out Milo’s breakfast. He went immediately to the task while she turned her attention to the coffee. Nothing could be done before she’d had at least two cups.
Once the coffee was brewing, she headed to the bathroom. When she got out, there was Boone, standing in the hallway, his gun present and at the ready.
“Dammit, Christie,” he said, lowering the weapon. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You were dreaming. It seemed a shame to interrupt.”
“Dreaming? Are you nuts?”
“I’m pretty sure I am, yes.”
“Okay, then,” he said, wiping his right eye. “Is the coffee ready?”
“A couple of minutes.”
He nodded, then took her place in the bathroom.
She stood for a moment, watching the door. Then she turned, headed for the kitchen just in time to see Milo slip outside via the doggy door.
She wanted to change clothes. She didn’t care into what, just something she hadn’t slept in. But that would mean going in her bedroom, and she wasn’t up to that at all.
Yeah, she was a miserable shot, but if she could get him in her sights, oh, man, she knew she’d hit a bull’s-eye. Several times.
As she reached for her big mug, the one with the purple glaze, something caught her eye out the kitchen window. A truck, old and dark, pulling up to the curb in front of her house.
In an instant, she was trembling. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she could hardly breathe. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t anything to do with her. Why should it be? This was a public street in the middle of Culver City, but oh, crap, why right there?
She backed up as the truck door opened. A woman stepped out. She was dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, and had a big canvas bag over her shoulder. Behind her, a man walked around the front of the truck. He was tall, big, like Boone. He carried a duffel bag with him that weighed a lot. He, too, was in jeans, but damn if she couldn’t imagine him in a uniform.
“Boone?” she called, shouting toward the hallway. “Are you expecting visitors?”
He didn’t answer, but her heart calmed down as she remembered him mentioning a friend he needed to call. She was glad she’d made a big pot of coffee. And curious about the woman.
Boone walked into the kitchen and headed for the coffee.
Christie nodded at the window. “Friends of yours?”
“Yeah,” he said, making a 180, so he could meet them at the front door.
She followed. The couple walked in without talking. Both the woman and the man shook his hand, as if they were business associates.
Boone closed the door, locked it, then turned to Christie. “Seth, Kate, this is Christie.”
They nodded at her solemnly, then turned to Boone. “Where do you want me to start?” Seth asked.
He was actually taller than Boone by a couple of inches, and he had eyes to die for. What was it about Delta Force that brought them such gorgeous men?
“Bedroom,” Boone said, nodding down the hallway.
Seth shifted his duffel to his other hand and headed away.
“Do you want some coffee?” Christie asked, as he passed.
“No, thanks.”
“What about me?”
It was the woman. Kate. Christie faced her, and saw that she was attractive, in a hard kind of way. Stark lines, great cheekbones, but cold, too. Even her voice was hard. Although she had amazing hair. Dark, long, straight and so shiny it looked as if she could have been in a shampoo commercial.
“I’m going to work with Seth,” Boone said. “You two have some coffee. Talk.”
With that cryptic assignment, Boone went right to the bedroom, leaving Christie with this rather dour, strange woman.
When Christie faced her,
Kate didn’t seem at all disconcerted. “You have real cream?”
Christie nodded. “This way.”
BOONE WAS CROUCHED DOWN beside Seth’s duffel, checking out the neat toys. “How do you get this stuff?” he asked.
“I have my ways.”
Boone knew he’d never get more information than that. He glanced at the bed beside them. The fake blood had turned a deep, viscous brown, and smelled sickly sweet. But he wasn’t thinking about the bed. “This asshole’s about six feet tall, slim, he wore goggles. He didn’t turn on the lights. The blood was in a big container—plastic, I think—and he was in and out in seven minutes. It was highly polished for a passion stalker.”
“Who says it’s passion?”
“What else?”
“Lots of things. Revenge. Money. Sex.”
Boone sighed as he stood. “I thought about all of that, but blood on the bed? That’s spells passion to me. I don’t know. Maybe Kate can figure it out.”
“Don’t count on it. Hey, what’s this?” Seth moved to the bedside table, and slid the whole unit out from the wall. He looked under the lip, ran his hand down the wood, then stopped. It took him a second, but he pulled out a strip of dark tape.
“What’s that?”
Seth held up his other hand, then took a magnet from his bag and ran it over the tape four or five times. “It’s a new kind of bug. It records audio data, but it’s very sensitive. I just scrambled it but good.”
“Shit, where’s he getting this stuff?”
“He obviously has deep pockets.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking.”
“CIA, maybe?”
“More likely than FBI.”
Seth sat back on his haunches and looked at Boone. “We shouldn’t be messing with this. Maybe this isn’t just about Christie. You know that, right?”
“Nate’s dead, Seth. Everything he knew went with him.”
“We know that.”