Danger and Desire: A Romantic Suspense Anthology

by Kimberly Kincaid

  Given his playful questions, he didn’t have an update that would turn her stomach upside down. “That’d be nice,” she said as she poured her coffee, “but no—”

  “Amanda told you Netflix has every episode of She-Ra?”

  “Hagan,” she snapped. “Listen to me!”

  “Did you say something?” he deadpanned.

  “Gah, you’re a pain in the ass.” Roxana sat at the kitchen table. “I have a major, mind-blowing announcement. Think you can give me a second to make it?”

  “I guess,” he teased. “Hit me with your good news.”

  She couldn’t stay seated and pushed out of the chair. “I’m getting married!”

  Hagan didn’t say anything.

  Roxana scowled and checked that the international phone call hadn’t disconnected. “Hagan? Did you hear me?”

  “Say again?”

  He’d better have just asked because the call glitched. “Jason and I are getting married.”

  “The hell you are.”

  For maybe the first time in her life, Roxana didn’t know what to say. Even if she had, she wasn’t sure she could talk with her jaw hanging to her knees. A geyser of angry aggravation doused her shock. “The hell I am? What did you just say?”

  Hagan made an exhausted noise, something that sounded like a groan and a growl rolled into an unhappy burrito of brotherly exasperation. She could almost see him pressing a hand to his forehead, pacing as he searched for some ridiculous reason to explain what had just come out of his mouth. “You’re not getting married.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. “Where the hell do you get off pissing on my rainbow?”

  “You barely know this Jason fellow.”

  “This Jason fellow?” Roxana ground her molars. “Since when do you pull the patronizing, wannabe paternalistic, man-of-the-family bullshit?”

  He sucked in a breath as if she’d slapped him.

  Roxana didn’t care. “In the past three years, Jason’s made it to more Thanksgivings and Christmases than you have.”

  Hagan scoffed. “You’re too young and—”

  “How old do you think I am?” She slapped her hand onto the kitchen table that had seen Roxana from baby food in a highchair to spoon-feeding her wheelchair-bound mother. “Better yet, how old do you think you are?”

  “Older than you.”

  “You’re an asshole.” Tears burned the back of her throat. “Both of us were forced to grow up too fast. We skipped the fun, carefree years of college and everything else so we could handle what we never should have had to do.” Her breath shook, and the hell if she were going to let an angry tear slip free. “You know what it feels like to have met your person. Don’t act like I don’t deserve that too.” Hagan’s continued silence gave her a chance to pull herself together. “You’re supposed to want good things for me.”

  He let out a long breath. “I do, Roxana.”

  “Doesn’t sound like it.” Hurt surfaced in her voice, and she wished it hadn’t. Hiding behind biting words and sarcasm was easier. Roxana bit her lip. “I’m really happy, and that should make you happy.”

  “I’m always happy for you. Hell…” Hagan let out a long breath. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

  “Jason would never hurt me,” Roxana promised, and the urge to smooth over their spat took over. “Besides, I shook a Magic Eight Ball, and it said the future would be hunky-dory perfect.”

  “Ha,” Hagan grumbled.

  She couldn’t tell if he was simply making alpha, protective grunts or if he had something more to say. “What?”

  “Just tell me this. Forget everything that’s happened, everything you both have now, your jobs, the house—does Jason make you happy?”

  Hagan’s out-of-character, overbearing concern was almost endearing. Slowly, she smiled. “Yes, very much.”

  “The real kind of happy? That no-bullshit, farting under the covers for the rest of your life kind of happy.”

  Roxana made a face and gagged. “That’s disgusting.”

  “That’s love in the real world, kid,” he countered.

  “Who knew you were such a beacon of sound relationship advice?”

  “Well, consider me the gold standard.”

  Roxana snickered. “I’ll be sure to ask Amanda how she feels about your definition of love and happiness.”

  “Christ, this phone call is getting better and better.” Hagan pulled a deep breath. “As long as you’re happy in all the right ways.”

  Hagan, who routinely jumped out of perfectly good helicopters, would never know how secure and loved Jason made her feel simply by offering stability. That made her swoon as much as his bedroom moves. “I’m happy in all the right ways.”

  Slices of sun broke through the canopy of sugar maples and oak trees, dotting and disappearing over the windshield as the rented SUV jumbled over weathered ruts and past security sensors. Jason glanced out his window, spotting the familiar camera hidden in the old growth of a tulip poplar and gave a friendly wave, no doubt irking his boss.

  Buck Baer was an asshole and wore that badge with pride. It’d been Jason’s first clue that his employer would be the cause of future heartburn and headaches.

  Unkempt branches smacked as he continued to the hunting cabin that housed one of GSI’s satellite offices. Jason eased the SUV next to two equally unmemorable, untraceable cars and stepped out into the cool summer mountain air. Today would be the last day he’d visit this Appalachian haven.

  His mind wandered. What would it take to get Roxana to go camping? They wouldn’t have to rough it in a tent. Maybe a cabin in a state park? He liked this area, and though Jason hadn’t explored Pike Mountain outside of GSI’s property lines, he could envision Roxana hiking. Almost. One day, he’d convince her that she was more outdoorsy than she gave herself credit for.

  Their new hiking adventures could be part of this new chapter in his life that would started today—or actually, yesterday, when she said yes. On the inside, he grinned like a fool. No one inside the cabin would understand why Roxana made the world turn. They couldn’t fathom decisions like marriage or settling down, finding a normal job with a normal life, and he didn’t fault them. Up until she walked into his life, he had the same mindset.

  Jason walked behind the wall of split logs and beater of a pick-up truck that offered coverage to the front door. If anyone were stupid enough to ignore the bevy of TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT signs, they’d stumble upon a timeworn hunting cabin with a battered wraparound porch and see two rockers with peeling paint in front of dusty, cobwebbed, bullet-proof windows.

  The porch steps creaked, and the front door still lay ajar, waiting for someone to come by with a screwdriver and tighten the hinges. Today wasn’t that day, and Jason let it slam behind him.

  A retina and fingerprint scanner identified him as Watcher 07, by position and identification number. The unlocking mechanism of the vault-like door engaged with rhythmic, whirring clicks before the entrance opened into the deceptively rugged office space.

  An eight-point deer head hung as the centerpiece of the room on the impenetrable exposed wood walls. Jason stepped through the door. Buck sat on one of two well-worn leather couches on either side of an over-sized wood table. If the outside was the face of a timeworn hunting lodge, the inside mirrored Buck’s expensive, often ostentatious taste, much like the company’s headquarters. Jason had only visited that office once—his first week on the job when he was required to meet with Human Resources, and he’d walked out of the building feeling as if they specialized in CYA more than HR.

  But, right after college, what did he know? It was his first “real” job that didn’t pay by the hour, and he could see that it was prudent for a security company to have a cover-your-ass policy in addition to fantastic health insurance and a matching 401K.

  Buck set down an etched crystal glass and leaned into the leather couch. His dark, tailored suit clashed against the cabin’s aesthetic in the same way his three f
ingers of bourbon disagreed with the early morning time of day. “Long time, no see.”

  Jason tried to picture his boss as an Army Ranger but couldn’t. “Thanks for the meeting.”

  “In this little slice of heaven?” The glint of a large gold watch peeked from Buck’s shirt sleeve as they shook hands. “Twist my arm.”

  Their amicable laughter was shaded with the unknown. Buck hadn’t asked Jason why he’d requested the face-to-face sit down, and Jason had no clue if Buck would understand his reasons for leaving the firm—not that Jason planned to get into the nitty-gritty of his growing distaste.

  Buck picked up his glass. “Get you one?”

  Jason picked up on Buck’s slight slur and the glassiness in his eyes and added possible problem with alcohol to his ever-growing list of concerns.

  An analyst named Charles that Jason had often worked with walked into the living room with a full coffee pot and mug.

  Buck snarled. “Did you hear anyone ask for that crap?”

  Charles glanced at Jason, silently warning him that Buck Baer was a jackass when he was drunk. Big surprise. “I’d take some. Where are the mugs?”

  “Leave the mug and the pot,” Buck barked.

  Charles shared another look with Jason, as he handed over the mug then set the pot on the table. It didn’t take a genius to see that Buck had rubbed Charles the wrong way.

  Jason poured his coffee. “When’d you get in?”

  “Here?” Buck reached for his glass and guzzled a finger’s worth. “Whenever the helicopter arrived.” He ran his tongue along his gums. “Let’s get down to business.”

  Irritation needled under Jason’s skin. “Maybe we should do this another time.”

  “You’ve got somewhere more pressing to be?” Buck slammed his glass onto the coffee table and sloshed bourbon onto his hand. He brought his knuckles to his mouth and licked the liquor before his expression shifted from angry to cordial. “You know what you need?”

  Jason could’ve predicted the words.

  “A drink,” Buck finished.

  “It’s okay. I have a long drive back.”

  “Suit yourself, pansy.”

  Drunk or not, that sounded more like his boss. Jason refocused on his goal. Quitting wasn’t one of his talents, but the thought of a future with Roxana ballooned in his chest. “I appreciate the opportunity you’ve afforded me—”

  “Wait a damn minute.” Scrutinizing lines creased Buck’s forehead. “Are you shitting me?”

  “I need a change.”

  “Bullshit. You want more money?”

  “No—”

  “More responsibility?”

  “No, I don’t want anything.” Jason straightened his shoulders. “I’m giving my two weeks’ notice.”

  Buck remained still as a sniper buried in hostile territory and looked as if he were still waiting for Jason to speak.

  An uneasy sensation ascended Jason’s spine. It wasn’t irritation or aggravation. More like concern that Buck Baer’s questionable, greedy overreach had more of an instability problem than Jason had realized. “Or whatever you consider standard.”

  Buck reached for his glass and drained it. “Why?”

  Even before they’d sat down, Jason had decided that his personal plans wouldn’t be part of the discussion. “It’s time for a change.”

  “You know,” Buck said calmly then slammed his empty glass onto the table. “I heard those exact words yesterday. Lost a big contract.” He snarled, mocking, “It’s time for a change. Do you know that means?” The veins on Buck’s temples bulged and a growl rumbled. “Problems with my bottom line.”

  “Sorry about that—”

  Buck leaned into the couch and steepled his fingers. “Timing’s interesting. You quitting after losing that contract to—” His eyes narrowed like blood-shot daggers. “You signed a non-compete.”

  More like his timing sucked. Jason didn’t know the contract that had driven his boss to the bottle before ten in the morning, but he could see how dots could be connected. “I—”

  Buck roared to his feet. “I want to know the cocksucker poachin’ my business.”

  Jason lifted his hands and shook his head in a way that might diffuse the misunderstanding. “I’m not trying to go elsewhere.”

  “I found you. I groomed you.” His nostrils flared. “Do you know how much money I’ve sunk into you? Thinking you were a dependable asset.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you, boss.” He should’ve done this conversation over the phone. Damn it. “I never told you I was a lifer.”

  “You are,” Buck snapped. “You’re going with that contract.” He scowled as if his brain couldn’t process the deluge of conspiracy theories. “You think I don’t see what’s going on?”

  Tension knotted in his jaw, and he scrubbed a hand over his chin. He wouldn’t explain about Roxana and wasn’t keen to dig into GSI’s problems. Jason needed to wrap this conversation and work out the details at a more sober opportunity. “I’ll finish any assignment you have in mind. No rush.” Which wasn’t true… “With a goal to wrap up in a few weeks.”

  “Just like that? Steal a contract and walk out the door, thinking I’m a fool?”

  His boss hadn’t heard a single damn thing he’d said. To hell with this conversation. Jason stood up.

  Buck’s lip twitched. “You think I don’t know how you spend your time? Who you spend your time with?”

  “Careful, Buck. If this conversation takes a personal turn, it won’t end well.” Jason squared off with his boss. Buck had him on weight. Jason had Buck on muscle and bulk. Buck had the money, the helicopters. Jason had his woman. Confident that he’d made his point, Jason walked toward the front door.

  Buck’s glare burned into Jason’s back like crosshairs. “I know about you and the woman from Titan Group.”

  Jason stopped dead, not turning before he was certain he’d heard Buck correctly. “The woman from Titan Group?”

  “I’ve got eyes everywhere, asshole.”

  Jason pivoted. “And what woman?”

  Buck snorted. “Jared Westin’s getting old and slow if he thinks I couldn’t connect the woman to his new Titan team.”

  “Aces?” Jason wasn’t sure that anyone knew of Westin’s covert team. He wouldn’t have if Roxana’s brother wasn’t part of it—ah, shit. Buck thought Roxana worked for Titan Group? “You’re working with bad intel.”

  Buck snorted. “You have one minute to ’fess up.”

  “Did you hear anything I said? I’m out. Done. Finished.”

  Buck held his Rolex up as if his unfocused eyes could follow its golden hands. “Fifty seconds.”

  “Whatever your problem with Titan—”

  Buck snagged his empty bourbon glass and launched it against the wall. “Titan Group’s existence is a problem.” He withdrew a gold-plated Desert Eagle. “You stole my contract.”

  Jason laughed. Of course this asshole would carry a showboat of a handgun. “You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

  Buck’s nostrils flared and the bulging veins at his temples thickened.

  “Let me make this perfectly clear for your drunk ass. I quit.” Jason pressed his thumb onto the scanner and walked out the swooshing security door.

  Chapter 3

  Tree branches swayed with a deceptive serenity outside the cabin. Jason reached into his pocket for the rental’s keyring. An hour ago, he would’ve described his boss as greedy with questionable morals. Now, as he approached the SUV, Jason decided that intoxicated and egotistically unbalanced were better ways to describe Buck Baer.

  The front door of the cabin creaked before Buck slapped it against the exterior wall. “Don’t make this mistake.”

  Jason kept his pace, refusing to kowtow to the narcissistic fucker until he heard the smooth, gut-churning click of Buck chambering his weapon. The hairs at the base of Jason’s scalp jumped in warning as he covered the final steps to the driver’s door. Buck might’ve been shitfaced, but t
he asshole wouldn’t shoot Jason in the back.

  He reached for the door handle. “Go sleep it off.”

  The Desert Eagle exploded with a booming ka-chunk that tore a fist-sized hole in the rear tire.

  Jason yanked the door open and whirled. No use in getting into a duel with a drunk who had the better position and weapon. “What the fuck?”

  Buck lifted a hand as if Jason had him at a loss. “I won’t accept your resignation.” He swayed off the front porch. “I won’t lose you to Jared fucking Westin.”

  “Not gonna.” The vehicle’s door wouldn’t serve well as body armor, but it was the best Jason had at the moment.

  Buck miscalculated his step but caught himself before he stumbled. “Convince me.”

  Even if Jason chose his words carefully, Buck was still deluded and drunk. Jason needed to understand the problem to understand his boss. “That’s fair,” Jason offered. “But you can’t leave me hanging. What’d that son of a bitch do?”

  “Westin?”

  “Yeah.”

  Buck stilled, sneering, but he lowered his weapon. “Known that boy scout since the army.” His tone shifted as if they were at a bar, retelling old war stories. “Same Ranger battalion. Good at what he did unless you asked him to be a team player,” Buck snorted, “acting as if he sat at the right hand of the Lord Almighty.”

  “Sounds like a peach.”

  Buck spat on the ground. “Didn’t trust him then. Don’t now.”

  In Buck’s paranoid inebriation, he had connected a rule-follower and a contract poacher as one in the same. But Jason nodded like Buck’s rationale was faultless.

  “I wanna know about the woman,” Buck demanded. “Who set up the partnership?”

  Did he mean Roxana? Jason wouldn’t breathe her name into Buck’s hallucinations. “I’m not partnering with anyone.”

  Buck chambered another round and blasted the front tire. “Don’t lie.”

  Hell, Jason was done with talking out the situation. He ducked into the driver’s side and pulled the door closed, slamming the key into the ignition. The SUV wouldn’t get far, but it’d get him off the side of this damn mountain. He threw the gear into reverse and whipped around. Gravel rocks spit in a cloud of dust.