In the Line of Fire: Hot Desert Heroes, Book 1

by Jett Munroe

“If he doesn’t, then I will,” Gabe told her. When she looked at him, he said, “You have the right to know.”

  She did have the right to know. But at that moment what she was most concerned about was Beck and the others. She looked at Gabe’s phone and willed it to ring. When the car stopped, she looked around and saw they were at an all-night Waffle House. “I’m not really hungry,” she said.

  “Neither am I. But I could use some coffee, and I don’t want to be driving around the whole time. I’m fairly certain we weren’t tailed here. We can get a seat and I can keep my eye on the door, though, just in case.” He grabbed his phone then got out of the car.

  She obediently followed him inside the restaurant, feeling a little lost and a lot scared. She’d left the man she loved literally holding a bomb. If it went off, how would she know? All the rest of the guys had stayed with Beck. They’d all die. There’d be no one left to make the call. She’d probably find out about it on the six-o’clock news, along with hundreds of thousands of other viewers at the same time.

  Her breath hitched. Her nose started to tingle and her eyes stung. Hold it together, she told herself. The last thing she wanted to do was have a breakdown at a Waffle House, but the man she loved was holding a freaking bomb!

  * * * * *

  “Almost got it,” Quincy muttered.

  Beck’s arms screamed with the agony of holding position. It was something he’d been trained to do, but it had already been nearly an hour. Quincy had disabled the ability for Dujardin to detonate the bomb remotely first thing. Now he worked on the wires leading from the mercury switches, and it was slow going.

  “As soon as we’re clear here,” Ty said, coming into the reception area from the outside, “the bomb squad’s waiting to sweep the building. They’ve already evacuated the two retail shops in front and the other buildings on the block.”

  “Got it!” Quincy straightened, hands at his lower back as he stretched out the kinks.

  “Sure?” Beck asked.

  Quincy shot him a frown. “Sure I’m sure. I’m your demolitions expert, aren’t I?”

  “Call in the bomb squad,” Beck told Ty. “They can take this thing off my hands.”

  Ty opened the door and motioned, and several officers entered the building. One walked over to Beck and inspected the box before lifting it carefully in his hands and walking back outside with it. Beck dropped his arms and shook them, grimacing as they filled with prickling pins and needles all over.

  One of the officers stepped forward and held out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Will Kaufman.” After Beck shook his hand, the sergeant said, “We’ve already ascertained the exterior of the building is clean, but we need keys to the upstairs units so we can clear the entire building.”

  Beck dug into his pocket for his key ring and held it up by one key. “This is a master. It’ll open all the condos.” He pointed toward the hallway. “There’s an access door at the end of the hall there.”

  Kaufman took the key ring and motioned for the other officers to precede him. “Now, you all get outside on the other side of the tape.”

  Beck watched them a moment then motioned for the others to follow him. He went outside into the bright September sunlight and walked down the sidewalk in silence, on high alert, his gaze searching the people gathered ahead of him at the yellow police tape that indicated the cordoned-off area. He didn’t see Dujardin, but if the man had been a regular at the coffee shop and Beck had never noticed him, it was likely he’d had plastic surgery, enough to change his features. Damn it. Beck could walk by the bastard right now and not know it was him.

  He and the guys ducked beneath the tape and wended their way through the crowd. Once clear, he leaned his shoulder against a building and breathed out a heartfelt, “Son of a bitch.” He looked at Ty, who was the only other man at REG who’d been on the team with Beck when they’d neutralized Dujardin. “What the fuck, Ty. Dujardin was supposed to be locked up for thirty years in Afghanistan. He’d have been lucky to have lived that long. But he’s out? And here? What the fuck!”

  Jaw tight, Ty pulled his cell phone out and jabbed in a number. He brought it to his ear and after a second or so barked into it, “Lieutenant Colonel Maxwell.” He walked away a few feet, listened for a moment, then cut in with a terse, “I don’t care if he’s in a meeting. You tell him Tyrell Thorne’s on the line. He’ll talk to me.” Another pause then, “Yeah, I’ll hold.” He, too, scanned the crowd, a frown creasing his brows.

  “Soon as we get back inside, I’m gonna go do some web surfing,” Rafe muttered. He paced back and forth on a five-foot section of sidewalk, his gaze distracted but trained on the people around them.

  Quincy joined Beck in his effort to hold up the building. The strain of the last hour showed clearly on his features. When he caught Beck looking at him, he gave a wry grin. “Man, feel like I could sleep for at least a year.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Colonel Maxwell.” Ty’s back went straight, his jaw hard. “Yes, I know you’re a busy man, and I imagine you’d like to get right back to your meeting, so why don’t you stop wastin’ time barkin’ at me like a junkyard dog?”

  Quincy’s eyebrows shot up at that.

  Beck knew the relationship between Ty and Maxwell, so he wasn’t too concerned.

  “Did you or did you not know that Germano Dujardin is no longer rotting in an Afghani prison?” Ty listened, shaking his head, his lips pressed together, fingers holding the phone so tightly his knuckles shone white against his dark skin. “No, sir, I am not shittin’ you. He just hand-delivered a bomb to Townsend’s lady here at REG.”

  Even from where Beck stood, he could hear Maxwell’s raised voice.

  “Yeah, you do that,” Ty snarled. “Yeah, gettin’ back to me would be great.” He disconnected the call and shoved his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. “He hadn’t heard. Whoever Dujardin paid off, he had to have paid off big.”

  “Fuck.” Beck stared at the backs of the people waiting at the police line. What the hell was he supposed to do about Delaney now? Keeping her with him seemed unnecessarily fraught with danger, yet letting her go held no guarantee of her safety. And at that thought, his inner caveman set up a howl Beck couldn’t deny. He had to see her, and he had to see her now, to make sure she was, at least for the moment, all right.

  Kaufman came out of the building and gave the all-clear. Uniformed officers began taking the tape down and Beck and the others headed back toward REG. The police sergeant saw Beck coming and waited, handing him his key ring when he reached him. Beck shook the man’s hand and thanked him. As the cops left, Beck yanked his phone free and called Gabe. “It’s clear,” he told his friend. “Bring Laney back to me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The second Delaney got back to REG, she flew into Beck’s strong arms. As soon as they closed around her, the emotion she’d managed to hold at bay burst out of her in the form of body-shaking sobs. “Baby,” she heard him mutter. He swept her up into his arms and moved out of the lobby and down the hallway. Uncaring where he was taking her, she buried her face in his throat, tears flowing.

  Then she was down, his arms still around her, her ass in his lap. Face still shoved in his neck, she wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders, holding on, and sobbed into his skin. The last sight she’d had of him had been him holding a flower box loaded with a bomb. He could have died.

  He.

  Could.

  Have.

  Died!

  It was too much. She pressed closer, one hand going to the back of his head to curl into his hair and, lips on his throat, she silently swore she was never, ever going to let him go.

  “Baby, you’re all right,” he whispered, mouth at her ear.

  No, she wasn’t.

  She could have lost him forever.

  Her sobs increased.

&nbs
p; “Laney, calm down.” Beck stroked his hands up and down her back in a soothing motion. His voice sounded hoarse, the helplessness in his tones telling her he didn’t like her being all worked up like this and especially didn’t like it because he couldn’t fix it.

  Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t get the picture out of her mind, of him standing there, so tall and strong, holding that bomb in his hands, his stormy eyes on her as she walked out of the building. She could have been walking away from him for the last time.

  “I saw him all the time at Coffee & Confections,” she whispered, her face still pressed to his neck. “He flirted with me, but I promise that’s all I thought it was. Just him being a middle-aged man who was overly friendly with a pretty woman. Colbie said she thought there was something off about him, and then he was rude to Morgan, but I d-didn’t think he’d d-do s-something like this!” The tears she thought she was getting control over started up again.

  “Swear to God, I am gonna kill that motherfucker,” she heard Beck snarl.

  That’d be fine by her, because the mofo had tried to blow up her and her man. She pressed even closer to him.

  “Fuck,” he clipped. He moved her off his lap and turned to face her.

  He pushed damp hair away from her face, his expression tender and angry at the same time. His thumbs moved over her cheeks, swiping through the wetness, his face mere inches away. “There,” he whispered, a slight smile tipping his lips. Those lips came closer and pressed against hers lightly once, twice, before he lifted back up again. “You all right now?”

  Delaney’s eyes were swollen, but she was finally pulling it together. “Yeah. I need to blow my nose.”

  He pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth then levered up and off the sofa. As he walked over to his desk, she sat up, wiping under her eyes with the tips of her fingers. She probably had raccoon eyes and most of her makeup was likely gone. But she doubted the agency would be open for business the rest of the day, so she didn’t suppose it mattered.

  He grabbed the box of tissues from the corner of his desk and carried it over to her. “Here you go,” he said.

  She blew her nose as daintily as she could, which was, sad to say, much like a Klingon. She tossed the used tissue onto the glass table in front of the sofa and yanked another one from the box to wipe mascara from under her eyes. When she glanced down at the tissue, she blanched to see all the black on it from her face. Sheesh.

  “You’re beautiful even without all the gunk.” Beck took the box from her and placed it on the table, then sat beside her and took her hands in his. “Baby, I’m so sorry about Dujardin. If I’d known he was in town, he’d never have gotten within a mile of you.”

  “Who is he?” Delaney asked quietly, her eyes searching.

  He looked down, and his fingers played with hers.

  Her lips tightened. Here we go. He’s not going to tell me.

  “He’s someone from my past, from when I was in the Marine Corps,” he said quietly. “My squad came across him and his shady dealings when we were in the Middle East.” He looked up at her then, but from the unfocused look of his eyes she had a feeling he wasn’t really seeing her. He went on, “He’s a French mercenary or, well, he was, who stole and then sold medical supplies and weapons on the black market in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, and Iran. We nabbed him in Afghanistan and turned him over to the police there.” He dropped one of her hands to rub the back of his neck.

  When he didn’t seem inclined to continue, she prompted, “And? There’s more to it than the fact you were the ones who turned him over to the cops.”

  “He was tried and found guilty, and thrown into prison where he was supposed to serve a minimum sentence of thirty years. Word got to me not long after he started his sentence that he was beaten up pretty badly by a couple of other inmates.” He grimaced. “Might’ve felt a little sorry for him before, but now, not so much. How he got out…” He sighed and shook his head. “I s’pose he bribed one of the prison guards. I have no idea how long he’s been out, but obviously it’s been long enough to track me down.”

  “When did this happen?”

  “Five…no, six years ago.”

  “So he could have been out almost all that time, if he bribed someone.”

  “Yeah.” He huffed another sigh and leaned back against the couch. His gaze, when it returned to her, was clouded.

  Delaney waited for more, but when it wasn’t forthcoming, she said, “And that’s it? You guys caught him and he was tossed in jail?” She scowled. “Making me hold a bomb seems a bit, um, overblown.”

  Beck winced and touched her jaw with two fingers. “Please, baby, don’t joke about it. I’m not ready for that, probably never will be.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. Now that she was over her initial fear for him, and since she felt comfortable and safe around him, some of her natural-born sass was coming out. But she understood his point because she sure wasn’t ready for him to be joking about holding the dang thing, either.

  She chewed on her bottom lip while she thought about it. “So you think it’s because of what happened to him in prison that made him come after you? Rather than that you were instrumental in sending him there, I mean.”

  “I guess so.” He put his chin to his chest, stretching his neck, and even from where she sat she heard his vertebrae crack.

  She knew evasiveness when she saw it. Lord knows, she’d gotten it enough over the years she’d been married to Frank. “Beck?”

  His gaze came back to her but quickly skated away.

  This couldn’t be happening. He’d promised her he’d tell her about Germano Dujardin. If he thought the little morsel he’d just shared was enough, he was wrong.

  “Beck, you promised,” she said quietly.

  His jaw hardened. “I just told you.”

  “You told me a little bit. You promised you’d tell me all about him.”

  He looked at her again, and this time his eyes weren’t clouded and unfocused. This time they were laser sharp and like aged pewter. “I told you what you need to know.”

  Delaney sucked in a breath and tried desperately to draw on patience at the same time. “That’s not the same thing, honey,” she said carefully.

  “It is to me.” Jaw set, he got to his feet. “Why don’t you go on upstairs? The guys and I have work to do.”

  She blinked. Just like that, the conversation was over? And…what the hell? “If you guys have work to do, then don’t I too?”

  “You were just holdin’ a bomb, sweetheart.” His eyes were as hard as his jaw. “You need to take a break; go get some rest.”

  “You held the bomb too,” she told him in a whisper.

  “I’m used to dangerous situations,” he reminded her, and the reminder was one she did not welcome. “It’s my job. My life.”

  “I get that, but—”

  “I also wasn’t the one who broke down into hysterics.”

  Shock widened her eyes and made her draw in a sharp breath. He did not just say that. “You did not just say that,” she repeated out loud.

  He heaved a sigh, clearly getting impatient. “I can’t do this right now,” he muttered.

  Yes, definitely impatient. Too bad. They had things to discuss and she’d be damned if she’d toddle off upstairs to have a nap.

  “Damn it, Beck. Let. Me. In!”

  “You are in.”

  “No, I’m not. I’ve shared everything with you, but there are still large parts of your life I know nothing about. Like anything about your childhood, your life before the marines. And what happened with Dujardin before you turned him over to the Afghani officials.”

  “There are some things you don’t need to know.”

  “Don’t hand me that!” she cried out. She clenched her fists. “I need to know because I was just holding a freaking bomb in my hands, but, mo
re than that, it’s obviously something that bothers you. Haven’t you ever heard that a burden shared is a burden lightened?”

  Beck threw back his head and stared at the ceiling. Goddamn it, but he did not need this right now. He counted to ten then looked at her and said, “It’s none of your business.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he’d be damned before he took it back. Because it was true. Delaney was pure and innocent, and there was no need for her to know all the fucked-up things he’d done in his life.

  She drew in a sharp breath. “If that’s the way you want it,” she whispered.

  “Listen. Until we catch Dujardin I have to live with the worry that I’ll miss somethin’ or fuck somethin’ up and lose you. Not just lose you, but lose you.” His throat tightened, which made his next words raspy. “That threat has to be neutralized before I’ll breathe easy. And I’ll have to continue on with the worry that somewhere out there might be someone else who has a grudge they want to settle with me by usin’ the people I love.”

  She crossed her arms, her eyes dark with burgeoning anger, but at least she seemed to be listening to him. Frustration over Dujardin and this insistence of Delaney’s that he share his soul with her had him adding, “So maybe you could let go of all your mental bullshit, cut me some slack, and believe. Believe in us, that we can be happy together. That we can just…be. Because adding all of your uncertainties to the mix just gives me more fuckin’ shit to worry about.”

  “Wow.” She stared at him with anger burning in her eyes. “I am so sorry that I’ve given you so much shit to worry about. If it’s that much of a problem, I can easily remove myself from your presence altogether. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about me at all. Ever.”

  Fuck him. How had this gone, in a matter of a couple of hours, from both of them being afraid the other would die, to her threatening to leave him? “Laney…” He sighed.

  Maybe this was the way to go. He’d keep her close until Dujardin was caught; then he’d let her walk out of his life. That way at least she couldn’t be used against him by some other madman.