by Dana Volney
Teagan finally broke his grip. He stopped short and turned, catching her arm before she got too far away. “Listen.” He pulled her close enough to touch his lips to her ear and breathe in her subtle almond citrus scent. “You’re in danger. Your best chance out is with me. Don’t, and you’re as good as dead.” It was harsh, but fuck, if Rodney was after her, Able’s threat was not idle. He’d explain more later, after she filled him in on her side.
Her body slackened, relenting her resistance. He slid his palm down her forearm until he could lace their fingers together for a better grip. He pulled and she followed, keeping up this time. They swung left at the end of the hall.
“Where’s the exit, Sabene?”
“Take a right, and it should be a couple feet down to the right.”
They hurried out the double doors; brake lights flashed at them on the side street, Samson’s big head sitting tall in an old Tempo.
“This way. To that car.” He pointed for her benefit. He made it to the car first and wrenched open the back door. Teagan jumped into the seat and scooted over so that he could get in next to her. Samson was already driving away before Able was fully in.
“Had to.” Able caught his brother’s eye in the rearview mirror. Rodney didn’t screw up twice.
“Right.” Samson stepped on the gas. “Where to?”
He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Tonight had snowballed the fuck out of control. There was no way he was inviting the new team to his place. That was his fortress of solitude. He didn’t even bring women back there—he went to their place or rented a hotel room.
“Where did everyone end up?” Able asked. Samson stopped at a light and Able glanced at Teagan. She was still. Very still. Unsettlingly so.
“We’re all at the coffee shop,” Sabene answered.
“Let’s go there.” Able rubbed a hand over his goatee. “We’ll get this sorted out. I just need to know why an assassin would take an interest in you. Why were you meeting with the FBI?”
In slow motion, Teagan turned her head to face him. Her feet planted on the floorboard, and she locked her hands together and rested them on her thighs. “I was handing him sensitive information.”
He didn’t expect her voice to be so gravelly. She’d been through a lot tonight; the trauma was in her eyes even though she was trying to hide it. He made sure to match her softness. “What kind and where is it now?”
She shrugged. “Wherever my bag is. It was stolen after I was knocked out.” She was resigned. The passion from the alley and police station was gone. She needed his help, his protection. He could feel that deep down in his gut. This magnetism was new. Not sure if he liked it or not. He was leaning toward not. And he sure as hell didn’t want this to be a permanent thing. If he’d gone soft, he was going to hang up his ammo belt.
“We’ll find it.”
“And if not?” Her big blue eyes searched his, and her lips pressed together. There was that pull again. It was her. “It doesn’t matter. I’m screwed now either way.”
“Tell me about this information.” His gaze trailed down her rumpled suit jacket, pants riddled with dirt marks, and fidgeting legs.
She needed to reset. They all did. He hadn’t planned on stepping in to save her life tonight, letting Rodney get away, or breaking her out of jail. But she was his only connection to Rodney, his only hope of figuring out what was going on so he could take care of the problem and not leave any loose ends.
* * *
Teagan opened the car door and bolted forward, not looking back. A giant crowd formed in front of the event center. She veered left as soon as she was a layer in. No loud footsteps had bounded behind her, just a shouted curse as her heels hit the pavement. She didn’t know who those psychos were, but she didn’t want to wait around to find out.
A concert had just let out. Thank God. Hoards of people stood around in the street and more filed out. They wouldn’t find her. She could go to her apartment, grab a couple of things, find her extra set of car keys, and get the hell out of Arlington.
The only person she could trust was herself.
She started toward the far end of the venue. There would be cabs lined up and she could just hop in.
Money. Shoot. She didn’t have any of it. She didn’t have her cell phone, no driver’s license, no keys. Shit. Okay, so desperate times called for desperate measures. She’d tell the cabbie to pull over a couple blocks from her place and then she run out. She’d make sure to remember the car number and send a check with an apology as soon as she could. Who knew when that would actually be though. She had no way to get her bag and wallet back, and now she was a fugitive so if she had a new ID and credit cards sent to her, the police would probably track her. Dammit, she couldn’t have screwed this up any more if she’d actively tried.
She should’ve called out when that man was dragging her through the police station and made sure they didn’t get out the door. Why hadn’t she? Of course, she was honestly fucked in that situation. She’d be stuck with a public defender and they’d probably make her take a deal for a crime she didn’t commit and then Hume Corp. would finish the job when she was in the slammer. Orange was so not her color.
Yet now she’d left the one guy who’d offered help, and his brooding friend. Who was that guy anyway? Both of them, either of them? And who the hell was he talking to when they were escaping? He wasn’t just any ordinary man with a muscular, lean, tall frame and sultry eyes. He was someone important. She could tell.
And what the fuck was he talking about when he said assassin?
She rounded the corner, glancing behind her. She wasn’t being followed by either of the mystery men. She whipped her head around and stopped short. An officer was in the crowd. And another. She could see them scanning faces, no doubt for hers. Surely by now the word had gotten out that she’d escaped, and she was only three blocks from the precinct. Shit. She hadn’t even wanted to leave jail. Criminals really were opportunists. She knew that for certain now because she was one.
She spun around. Fuck. There was nowhere to go; the event center never let people back in once they’d left. She turned to go back the way she’d come and another cop in full uniform, including a gun, was walking straight for her. She should just turn herself in and beg for mercy; she was as good as dead anyway.
She opened her mouth to call out, to surrender peacefully before the crazy lunatic, probable killer, bruised more of her arm. All of a sudden she was being whirled around by the waist, warm hands were cupping her face and soft lips were covering hers.
She froze. The sultry-eyed fake lawyer was kissing her.
He pulled back, their breaths mingling in the cool air. “No more cops tonight.” His palm moved back over her ear and down to her neck, the other still cradling her face. “He’ll walk right past us if we don’t give him a reason to stop. They don’t know about your break out yet.”
She was going to protest. Point out that she wasn’t the mastermind—he was the one who broke her out. But then he dipped his head, pressed his lips to hers again. Hot and consuming. His perfect lips moved over hers, and she no longer felt the desire to run. A thrill swirled down her back, adrenaline pumped into her system, as if she’d had any more to produce. Her lips parted, letting his tongue in to mix with hers, swirl and command. Intoxicate her.
He was the only thing in her life that seemed real. And that was crazy. She breathed him in, wrapping her arms around his neck then splaying her fingers in his long hair. His palms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer, their bodies pushed together as if they were long- time lovers not shy about showing their affection for one another in public. It was just another night for the couple they were pretending to be.
He separated their lips and gazed into her eyes; time stood still and then he kissed her again. Without warning, he stilled and she felt a shift in him—from sexy to high alert. Like a hunter in the shadows waiting for the perfect time to make his move. They weren’t kissing for fun. They were making-out
to hide.
He stood straight, his hands not leaving her body, and she made no attempt to move hers. Her body slacked against his hard abs. This was some rollercoaster she was riding.
“I want to go home.” Her voice was small to her own ears. She focused on his chest rather than look him in the eyes. If there was a way to erase her last twenty-four hours, she would. If she could go back six months, even better. Tabitha being alive would fix everything.
“You want to go back to your place?” he asked.
That would work, too. But really she wanted to go home home. Iowa.
“It’s most likely being searched right now,” he continued. “And the guy who knocked you out, who we still haven’t found, took your bag. I assume your wallet was in there.”
She nodded and bit into the side of her cheek, letting the plumpness go one millimeter at a time.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened as a solution finally popped into mind. “You saw it. You saw everything.” She spoke fast. “You’d said that.”
“Yeah,” his word was drawn out and weary.
“Then you can tell them. Tell the cops what you saw. You’re an eyewitness.” Finally, Wyatt. Start thinking a way out of this. “You can be my alibi.”
“No.” Plain and simple. His lips had formed into a straight definitive line of negativity.
“Why the hell not?” She released her arms from his warmth and took a step back.
“Because I don’t deal with the police.”
“I didn’t exactly go looking for them myself.”
“There are other ways to clear your name. None of which involve me explaining to the investigators why I was staking out your meeting with the FBI.”
“But you’re my only chance.” Agent Wheeler could pull through, but she’d seen his wound. She’d wouldn’t bet the house on his living to sort out the misunderstanding.
“Exactly.” His arrogance made her want to kick him in the shin, slap the goatee off his slender face, and take off. “That’s what I’ve been trying to convey. I am your only hope.”
Hope. Like she had any of that right now. His fast moving lips that made her body feel like floating weren’t going to get her out of this unless he used them to form his eyewitness account of the night. He’d been only dragging her further in.
His jaw ticked, and uncertainty passed through his eyes. Then he reached up and took something out of his ear. “You’ll stay with me.”
“I don’t think so.” Really, this nut was unbelievable. She glanced over his shoulder; the crowd was starting to thin and the night was growing long. What other choices did she have? He’d taken her from jail and “saved” her from getting re-arrested. Now that they were out of the station he could’ve killed her without an audience. He hadn’t. It would be nice to get some sleep. Sleep helped her think better. Or maybe she’d wake up to find all of this had been a nightmare.
“With me is the safest place for you to be.” His eyes were gentle, his focus completely on her.
She didn’t know the right answer.
His torso filled and fell. “It might not seem like it, but we’re in this together. I am in about as much danger as you, and the reason I’m asking you questions, seeking you out the way I have, is because I’m trying to save both of us.”
“What danger are you in?” Did he work for Hume Corp. at one point and was now against them? Did he know about the illegal weapons sale?
“The same person after you is after me and possibly some of my associates. I know we don’t know each other very well, but we’ve been tied together in this shitstorm. For better or worse. The more we work together”—whump, a drunk group of hipsters bounced off of him from behind— “and stop running”—whump—“the easier it will be.”
She dropped her gaze to the pavement. She was beat. He’d won. Tonight she’d let him take the reins. As for tomorrow, she couldn’t make any promises.
She searched his eyes for a moment, a plead flitted through them before the hardness was back. She carefully reached out and laced their fingers, the hotness of his palm creeping up her arm and tightening her chest. She cleared her throat and smiled. Big and wide and so fake.
“That’s it.” He nodded once, a brown lock falling to the side of his eye. Slowly, the tips of his inviting lips turned up, making the apple of his cheek pronounced and crinkling the sides of his eyes. His grin was way more believable than hers. “Now,” he started back the way they’d come, “tell me something about yourself.”
“Like what? Something besides I’m wanted for attempted murder and am a fugitive?”
“Yes.”
“I love wasabi.” What the hell? Why not? She was stuck with him now anyway. She was going to have to ride this out and see what happened. Who knew? Maybe he really could help her.
He side-eyed her. “Lover of spice, got it.”
“No. Not spice in general. Just wasabi.”
“Noted.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Tell me something about yourself.” She kept surveying the area like he was, only she wasn’t really focusing on anything. She didn’t know if she should be looking for anything but a uniform.
“Kiss me.” Mr. Delusional stopped short.
Was this guy for real?
He turned to face her as another patrol officer stepped onto the sidewalk. He took a step and she walked back. Then another. He walked them right out of the light and back into the shadows. Where she’d guess he’d always prefer to be.
Eh, what the hell
Chapter Five
Teagan stepped out of the vehicle and Able turned back to Samson. “We’ll meet in the morning.”
“Where?” Samson asked.
“Here.” He texted him the address of a store front in downtown Arlington. “Let the others know. We have a lot of work to do.”
Understatement of the year. “A lot of work” was pulling off a hit on a recluse who never showed their face in public or trusted anyone they hadn’t known since birth. This problem was going to be impossible—Rodney knew they were on to him. There was no doubt now that Rodney had a bigger plan in motion and that Teagan was a part of it. What nagged at Able though was the fact that Teagan was still alive. Why kill the agent and frame her? Why not just kill them both and be done? Death was an end-all solution.
“You live in a warehouse?” Teagan stood with her arms tightly crossed over her black suit jacket, showing off her nice rack.
He shut the car door, and Samson drove off to dump the stolen car. “A renovated one.”
“But the outside … ”
“It’s meant to look like that.” Able pushed on a brick next to the unassuming door that was really reinforced steel a tank couldn’t drive through. A key pad appeared. “The more rundown the better. No one messes with it or suspects anything.” He punched in a ten-digit code. His system would even trip up Sabene long enough for him to make a getaway if he were under attack.
He opened the door and let Teagan walk through first, pointing for her to go up the small staircase, not down. Her scent mingled with the warm air. He made sure the door was latched behind them and set the security code. They were in for the night.
She was stopped at the top of the stairs. His place remained dark until he stepped on the spot he’d rigged for lights and the soft overhead lighting flipped on, each section after another lighting his upscale décor in the refurbished warehouse.
“Living room and kitchen.” Able waved his hand around the room in clockwise fashion. “My room is up there.” He pointed to the far upper section. He’d carved a space half the length of the main floor up there, like a sniper’s perch with a king-sized bed wrapped in glorious bamboo and cotton sheets, silk rugs end to end, and the world’s most comfortable chair. “There’s a bathroom over there.” The downstairs bathroom had a Roman style walk-in shower with five showerheads, a bench, and steamer. His master bath had a sunk-in tub with heaters and jets.
She glanced to the open stairs that led to his loft ro
om before studying the teal L-shaped couch. “Only one room?” She pressed her lips together.
“The couch is comfortable.” He pointed to the long, teal couch that reached to the spiral staircase. “I have nice blankets and sheets.” He side-eyed her and moved to the island block in the kitchen. He liked the open floor plan—it made him feel at ease because he could see in every direction.
“What’s in that room?” She headed toward his office, which led to his armory.
He was in front of her before she’d taken two steps. “My office. There’s no need to go in there. Would you like tea?” He splayed his hand on her lower back and guided her toward the kitchen. She took a seat at the island, and he filled a kettle with water and lit the gas stove.
“What is it you do?” Her brows folded in. “What is your name?”
He placed a basket of teas on the granite in front of her. “I’m a consultant.” I provide death for a living. He was rarely hired to steal or maim these days. “My name is Able.” He’d normally lie and say John or something. But with her he wanted to be honest. It felt better. And he was going to need her trust.
“Able.” She repeated quietly as she sifted through the tea choices. “Consultant for what?”
“An array of industries. It’s really too complicated.”
“I was about to hand over information to the FBI to take down a well-respected company that was doing less than respectable things. Information I gathered all on my lonesome and figured out without having to ask a big, strong man for help.” She arched a brow. The defiance was clear.
“Point taken.” He set two red coffee mugs on the counter. “Which company is this?”
She watched him closely, looking for something. Of what, he wasn’t sure. “Hume Corp.”
“The defense contractor?”
“The one and only.”
“What were you handing over to the FBI?” He poured the whistling water into their cups and set one in front of her. He emptied chamomile tea leaves into a steeper and dropped it into his cup.
She chose the golden tips red tea. That made sense. She did smell citrusy. “I found a second set of books. The ones that show dates, payments, and a client list that contains names of most groups on the terror watch list.”