With that she slammed the door in his face. Once again there he stood fuming. That woman had a way of driving him nuts like no other person on earth. Before this mess was over he would convince her he didn’t mean what he said. Come hell or high water she would understand that. He hoped.
Just to get the last slam in, he opened his door and swung it closed as hard as he could. The curtain rod on the front window crashed to the floor knocking over the lamp that sat on the small table under it. The light bulb and the ceramic base broke.
“Great,” he growled. “See what ya made me do,” he shouted toward the wall that separated their rooms. “Hope you’re happy.”
“I am,” she shouted back.
He swore he could hear her snickering against the wall. That would be just like her. He tossed his arms in the air, flopped down on the bed and dialed Cannon’s number. It would be nice to hear a sane voice for a change.
* * * * *
After filling in Cannon, Kong, Sam and Boomer on a conference call he cleaned up the broken lamp and bulb and then rigged up the curtain rod. He’d have to make sure he slipped the old Dane woman some extra money to replace the light and get the rod fixed.
Then he went out to the car and retrieved his duffle. He’d give Veronica a little more time to cool off before he went knocking. As volatile as she was now, he might be met at the door by a pistol to the face. He settled on the bed with his laptop and turned it on when he heard a loud crash through the wall.
Without hesitation he grabbed his gun, opened his door slowly and peeked through. No one outside, so he took the two steps to her door and knocked.
“Veronica, you okay?” he shouted. When she didn’t answer he knocked again. “Veronica, answer me. Are you okay?” Still no response.
He jiggled the door knob. Locked. Stepping back he raised his leg and kicked it open. Crouching low he entered the room and gave it a quick sweep. Empty. She wasn’t there.
“Veronica,” he said in a lower voice.
He nearly fell over when she stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was secured in a towel on top of her head. Wrapped around her body was a much too small towel that barely covered anything. The length of the white terry cloth piece came to the very top of her legs and flared open at her navel in a sexy v.
His eyes lingered there, memories of that glorious night with her flashing through his mind. How soft she was, how smooth and clean. Without his permission, his gaze drifted up. Her belly button peeked out at him, beckoning him to dip his tongue into it. He swallowed hard and roamed up further. Her towel was tucked at her breasts, low enough to show enough chocolate cream skin covering pert mounds.
“Oh my God,” he all but panted.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she asked, tying to cover herself up.
He could barely speak. The more she tried to cover herself the more the towel moved and revealed. God bless tiny hotel linens. Inside his jeans he was growing to enormous lengths. His erection pushed against his zipper in record time. What kind of spell did this woman cast on him? He’d never reacted so painfully fast in his life.
“Ricochet,” she said exasperated.
He looked at her face then, still damp from her shower and glowing. All her makeup was removed, leaving stunning beauty in its place. He wanted to go to her, pick her up in his arms and lower her to the bed. He licked his dry lips.
She gave a frustrated growl and zipped back into the bathroom. He had to take a few moments to bring himself under control. Deep breaths, closed eyes and willing his body to behave. Once he was sure he could speak without slobbering he cleared his throat.
“I heard a crash over here,” he said tucking his gun into the waist of his pants.
“That was my shower curtain,” she said.
Her shower curtain? “What happened?”
She stepped out wearing the clothes she wore earlier. “You don’t wanna know,” she said combing her hair.
“Ah, yeah I do. Is this place falling apart?”
“No. It had help.”
“Look, I’m not in the mood to play twenty questions. What happened?” Even in her jeans and top she looked incredible with her long wet hair.
“Have you been in the bathroom yet?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then go check out the showerhead. I want to finish getting dressed.”
She shooed him out the door and closed it, securing it with chain since he’d demolished the doorknob and broken the lock. He returned to his room and went straight to the bathroom, whipped back the curtain and looked at the showerhead. A slow lazy, thrilled smile spread across his lips. He reached up and removed the hand-held sprayer. Turning the dial he read all the settings and laughed.
“No wonder the curtain came down.”
Then he had a thought. Did she feel the need to pleasure herself because of him? Was he affecting her the same way she was torturing him? Oh man, was that a sight he walked in on over there. She was right about one thing, this was an uncomfortable situation but not like she meant.
He thought about doing the same, relieving some of the tension she’d built inside him. As the thought ran through his mind a knock sounded on the door. He returned the showerhead to its place and went to the door. When he opened it she was standing there looking much more relaxed.
“I really need to go get some clothes. I don’t want to wear these much longer.”
“Sure, sure no problem.” His heart was hammering away inside his chest making it difficult to speak.
Her standing there like nothing happened didn’t help either. How was he supposed to continue being with her knowing what she’d just done? Picturing it in his head.
They drove to the nearest department store in silence. She headed directly to the lingerie department and picked out five pairs of lacy panties in different colors. He tried not to be obvious as he looked over her shoulder. He was not going to survive this.
Next she rifled through bras of every shape and size until she pulled one out and held it up in front of him. He eyed the soft black lace and internally groaned. Nope, not gonna survive.
By the time they made it to the actual clothing department he was walking slowly and in pain. Maybe while he was there he’d check into getting bigger pants for himself. If there were going to be anymore episodes like earlier and she insisted on him carrying her undergarments he’d need them. There simply wasn’t enough room for him and the mega-erection going on inside the ones he was wearing now.
“Is this gonna take much longer?” he asked as she pulled pants off a shelf.
“No. I’m almost done.”
Thank God. He really needed to get out of here before he embarrassed himself.
“I think I have enough for now,” she said smiling at him.
He gave her a strained smile back. “Good.”
He placed her panties and bras on the counter and left her, opting to wait at the door. If he had to watch as those barely there lacy pieces of material were held up and scanned it would kill him. Think about something else he ordered himself.
Nothing would come to mind. Not a blessed thing would override the sight he saw just a little while ago, or the picture in his mind of her standing in the shower grasping at the shower curtain in the throws of pleasure. She was doing it on purpose. That was it. She was mad at him for his stupid comments and found the perfect way to make him pay. It wasn’t enough he let her knee him, no, she had to be cruel on top of cold.
“Ready?” she asked stepping up beside him carrying a bag.
“Sure you don’t need anythin’ else?” Like a knife to stick in him and twist?
“I’m good. What do you feel like eating?”
She was kidding right? “You pick. I don’t have much of an appetite,” he grumbled.
“There’s a nice little diner across from the motel. It’s not fancy…”
“But it’s clean,” he finished for her. “Sounds familiar. Okay, let’s go.” He hoped they didn’t
have showerheads there.
She was right, it wasn’t much. He didn’t even see it when they checked into the motel. It looked like a small house, not a restaurant. When they walked in, he looked around. Not bad, the floors were wood, the lighting was a bit severe so he had to squint a little, but the smells coming from the kitchen made his mouth water. Small tables were scattered throughout the large dining room covered with flower-patterned plastic table cloths and topped with fresh wildflowers.
“Table for two?” a young, pretty girl asked.
“Please,” Veronica answered.
He followed her and pulled out her chair when the girl laid their menus down. He thanked her and took his seat.
“Eaten here before?” he asked, looking at his menu.
“I have. Everything is good, if you like home cooking.”
“I do.” He picked something simple, closed his menu and folded his hands.
Veronica did the same and sat quietly. The little waitress finally came and broke the silence.
“What y’all having tonight?” she asked.
Veronica ordered a steak, baked potato and collard greens with a soda.
“And you sir?”
“I’ll try your pot roast with a sweet tea.”
“Thanks.”
When she was gone Veronica smiled. “Ever have sweet tea?”
“No, but I assume its tea that’s sweet.”
“Oh it is. So, what’d ya think our next move should be?”
Finally something to talk about. “Well, they wanted to drag you out of hiding so I think we should make you a bit visible. I was thinkin’ I didn’t check to see how they got in, maybe we should go back to your place so I can take a look.”
“And hope they’re watching the apartment.”
“Yep.” He watched her shiver. “I won’t let anyone hurt ya, babe. Don’t worry.”
“I know you won’t. It’s just creepy knowing I’m going to be watched and never know when or where.”
“You’ll get through it. Just keep a cool head and don’t go off half cocked.”
“But that’s my specialty,” she said giving him an evil grin.
“Ya need to find a different specialty.”
“What did Cannon say when you talked to him?”
“Well, he and the rest of the team think the same thing. Bring ’em out in the open and go from there. As soon as we have contact the rest of the team will fly in.”
She shook her head. “Do me a favor, Ricochet.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t let them violate me. I’d rather take a bullet from you than suffer that.”
He looked at her shocked. “What?”
“Take me out before they have the chance to…” She couldn’t finish. Tears welled in her eyes.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said reaching across the table and folding his hand over hers. “They won’t get the chance.”
“We both know what these guys are capable of, what he’s capable of. There aren’t any guarantees.”
“Who is he, Veronica? Is he the one who killed your mother? Is that why you put yourself in danger and got captured by the militia?”
“So you know about my mom?”
“Yeah, I did some research of my own.”
“If I tell you who he is you won’t believe me. No one ever does.”
“The FBI believed ya. Didn’t they get him for another charge?”
“Boy you did do your homework. Yeah, they had him on assault charges but he managed to make them and all the paperwork on it disappear, along with the people who brought the charges.”
“Tell me.”
“His name’s Devon Grear,” she said in a hushed voice.
“Get the hell out. The guy runnin’ for president?”
“The one and the same. When he killed my mother he didn’t have political aspirations. He already had a load of money and had every dirtbag he could find working for him. Over time his money grew and so did his power.”
“Does he honestly think he’ll win the presidency with that kind of background?” Wow, this was big.
“From what I can tell he’s got every congressman, senator and janitor in his pocket. All he does is snap his fingers and they jump. If they don’t, they disappear.”
“Oh man. I need to let Cannon know about this.”
“He knows.”
“He knows?” Damn Cannon. Why didn’t he fill him in on this?
“When I went to him about training I told him everything.”
“Okay. So he’ll know who he can talk to and who he can’t.”
“I guess.”
“He’s probably two steps ahead right now. So, no worries, right? As soon as we make contact he’ll probably send in the proper authorities.”
“I hope you’re right. I’d like to think that our government officials don’t like being used as his puppets. I’m willing to bet that every disappearance that’s occurred in DC has his fingerprints on it. The question is, who can we trust to prosecute?”
She had a point. “Cannon will know what to do. He’s good at what he does.”
The waitress brought their food and placed it on the table in front of them. “Enjoy,” she said.
He picked up his glass and took a sip, nearly choking. “That’s sweet.”
Chapter Twelve
They finished their meal, had dessert and then went back to Veronica’s apartment. Ricochet knelt down in front of the door, pulled a tiny flashlight from his pocket and inspected the lock. There was no sign of picking, or tampering.
“Had a key,” he muttered.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” she replied.
He opened the door and stepped inside. The sun wasn’t down yet, so there was enough light to see. And see he did. Right in the middle of the room hanging from the ceiling was noose covered in blood with a note attached.
“Stay put.” He reached up and pulled the note down with two fingers. Three words were on it and it made his skin crawl.
Your mother’s blood.
“Sick fuck.”
“What does it say?” she asked looking over his shoulder. “Oh my God, no.”
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, setting the note down and pushing her toward the door.
The sound of glass breaking made them both duck. He covered her body with his and looked toward the window. Sitting on the floor was a brick wrapped in thick material burning furiously. He immediately jumped up, grabbed a charred blanket and began stamping it out.
When the flames were gone he pulled the blanket off and looked it over.
“Something’s under the material.” Veronica said from behind him.
He carefully picked off the strips of hot cloth, burning his finger tips. She was right. Under it was a bracelet.
“Let me see that.” She snatched it out of his hand. Tears welled and then spilled down her cheeks. “It’s my mother’s. I gave it to her for her last birthday.”
“Get the hell out now. Don’t go into the street without me.”
She fisted the small tarnished silver bracelet in her hand and ran, Ricochet right on her heels. When they got to the first floor he pushed her behind him and stuck his head out the door.
“No one in the street. Keep your head down.”
“Roger that.”
“I’ll go first, get the car unlocked. When I give you that signal you make a run for it.”
“Copy that.”
He pulled the key from his pocket, readied it in his hand and made a dash to the car. Nothing happened. With sure, fast hands, he unlocked the door, reached inside and unlocked the passenger side door.
He whistled to Veronica and watched as she darted out the door and made her way across the street. Just a few more feet and she’ll be home free, he thought to himself. Then all hell broke lose.
Several shots rang out. He saw her fly forward, drop to the pavement and roll. Bone-numbing fear started at his feet and raced through his body. No, this ca
n’t be happening. He crouched and made his way toward her. What if she was dead? A chasm opened in his chest the size of a black hole.
“Veronica,” he whispered. “Honey, are you okay?” He touched her back and felt something warm and sticky. He pulled his hand away and looked in horror at the blood covering it. “No. Fuck, no!” he shouted.
“Quit yelling,” she said looking up at him.
“Oh God, oh mother of all, you’re okay.” So much relief flooded through him his head spun and he nearly threw up. “Don’t move. I need to see where the bullet went in.”
“There is no bullet.”
“What?”
“No bullet. I don’t know what it was but it stung. Let’s get out of here.”
Her voice was wobbling with fear.
He reached up and opened the car door. “Go!” he instructed her.
When she was inside he jumped over the hood of the car, dived in and tore out into the street. He glanced between the windshield and the rearview mirror until he was comfortable enough to slow down. Then he glanced over at Veronica. She was staring out the window in silence.
“Are you okay? You’re sure there’s no bullet?”
“Pretty sure.”
He wanted to take her hand and hold onto it tightly, but it was sticky with blood so he clung to the steering wheel. He thought they’d never make it back to the motel. Just to make sure they weren’t followed he took several side streets and backtracked several times. Finally he pulled into the parking lot.
“Come on. I wanna check you out.”
She said nothing but nodded her head.
He ushered her into her room, flicked on the light and stared at her back. It was covered in blood. Too much blood, it couldn’t be hers or she’d be dead by now.
“Take your shirt off.”
“What?”
“Take your shirt off. I need to see your back.”
Ricochet's Rogue (Agent of Mercy, Book Three) Page 16