Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense

by Leslie Johnson

  The man is huge, but also quicker than he appears. He blocks my next blow, but not my third. I deliver a blow so brutal he reels back against the wall. Shaking his head, he reaches for the box again, and I let him. Fine by me. If he wants to hold onto its bulk, he’ll have to fight one-handed. If he’s that stupid, I’ll take the advantage.

  Instead of fighting, he twists toward the door, apparently intent on leaving Mia behind. She growls and fucking jumps on his back, surprising us both once again. She claws at his face, then cries out in pain as he slams her backwards into a wall.

  As he’s dealing with the flailing she-cat, I deliver a series of short jabs to his right shoulder, rendering it useless for a moment or two. Just long enough for me to drive my head into his abdomen, knocking the wind from him. He doubles over, leaving the back of his neck vulnerable. A sharp chop takes him down.

  He’s face down now, the box still tucked under his arm. I go to Mia, who’s now slumped on the floor, scooping up Black’s gun on the way. “Come on,” I say, pulling her to her feet. “We have to go. Now.” I tuck the gun in my pants, pulling the polo out to cover it a little.

  She’s shaky, but on her feet, and I pull her toward the door. “Grab the box,” I tell her. “I’ll check the exit.”

  Not knowing who’s waiting on the other side, I whip the door open, hoping the element of surprise will be my friend. But there’s no one there, and I step into the hall. Right. Left. Nothing.

  I step back into the room to see Mia struggling to wrestle the box free of our attacker’s large bulk.

  “Got it!” she gasps and steps over Black’s prone figure, but his hand darts out and grabs her ankle, sending her sprawling. She doesn’t have time to break her fall and lands hard on the heavy metal box, her breath coming out with a sharp cry.

  Even as she curls onto her side, gasping for breath, I dive toward Black as he’s getting to his feet, taking him back down. Rolling us until he’s on his back, I pin him to the floor by his massive neck, trying to choke him into unconsciousness. Giant fists connect with the sides of my head, but the rush of adrenaline covers the pain. I reposition until my knees are on his muscular biceps, pinning him in place as he bucks to throw me off him.

  “Go!” I shout to Mia. “Run!”

  “Where?” she asks, her voice thin and trembling. “I don’t know where to go!”

  I stare at her.

  She might be innocent after all. Otherwise, she’d take this opportunity to get away.

  Making a command decision, I let go of Black’s throat and grab hold of his shaved head. Lifting it off the floor, I smash it down once, twice. All fight flees him as he stares up at me, too dazed to fight back.

  As I get up to join Mia, I catch a glimpse of something under his jacket. Coming down hard on his gut with my knee, I rip open the jacket and curse. It’s a badge pinned to his shirt pocket. Reality stops for a minute as I consider this new development.

  It doesn’t make sense.

  With zero time to consider the possibilities, I’m up and grab Mia’s purse and my jacket, then take her hand, helping her up. She clasps the box to her chest as I steer her down the hall. The lower level of the massive bank branches out in a labyrinth of corridors, and I struggle to remember the way back to the stairway I’d descended earlier.

  “There!” she shouts, pointing down the hall and begins to run.

  I pull her back. “Slow and easy. There are security cameras everywhere. We don’t want to look panicked.”

  Beside me, she runs her hand through her long hair as we walk, pushing it back from her forehead, finger combing the tangles. “Do I look okay?” she asks. “I mean, do I look like I’ve been in a fight?”

  “You look beautiful.” The truth blurts out. “Your lip’s bleeding, though.” I take a second to pause at a water fountain and wet my fingers. “Here.” I stop her just before we ascend the steps, and she turns to me, meeting my eyes as I wipe away the blood on her chin. We need to look as normal as possible. “Want me to carry that?”

  She shakes her head quickly. I don’t argue, just toss my jacket across it, making sure the majority of the metal is covered.

  “Good as new,” I say and grab her hand again, pulling her behind me up the stairs. Her fingers fit into mine perfectly. Absolutely perfectly. “Just be cool,” I remind her, and she loosens the tight grip on the metal box she’s holding. She smiles at me, a way too bright smile that looks plastered on her pretty face. It’s good enough. I guide her into the cavernous bank lobby.

  Her palm is sweating against mine, but we’re almost there. I spot Mr. Lunden, and he just looks at us curiously. I lift a hand and give him an “I got two prizes today” grin. He grins back and gives me a little salute. A few steps later, I’m pushing the revolving doors to move them faster.

  “This way,” I say, heading toward the parking garage, but turn us around when I spot the suit. The garage is being guarded. Time for Plan B, whatever the hell that is.

  Picking a new direction, I walk blindly, searching the surrounding areas. I glance over my shoulder as we walk, seeing if the suit has pegged us. Shit. I meet his eyes, and he lifts his watch to his lips, speaking into the device. As soon as we round the corner, I turn up the speed. Soon, I’m pulling Mia behind me in a full out run.

  “Wait!” she cries out and begins to slow.

  “Not yet.” I grip her hand tightly and pull her along, faster. We’re running for her life. Probably my own now as well.

  We make it two blocks when I see a large, empty looking warehouse nestled in the middle of other empty looking warehouses. It’s a block away, on the other side of the railroad tracks. I pull her in that direction, not stopping until we’re on the other side.

  “Why are we running? Why couldn’t we take my car?” she pants, the words coming out between huge gulps of air.

  I assumed she was in the parking garage as well. “Where’d you park?”

  “The garage,” she confirms.

  “No good. Suits guarding it. What do you drive?”

  “A VW Bug.”

  I try not to laugh out loud at the idea of outrunning a man wearing a Federal ID in a Bug. “I think we’re better off here for now. We have to figure out what to do next.”

  “Who was that man?” Her words come between labored breaths.

  “I don’t know,” I reply tersely, throwing a look over my shoulder. “But I don’t like the idea of him.”

  And I didn’t. Not at all.

  Chapter 8 – Mia

  Jax pulls me behind him even as I’m still trying to catch my breath. The bank box is heavy, and my ribs screech with each step. We reach a door, but it’s locked when he tries the knob. He steps back and kicks it. After a sharp bang, we’re inside.

  I yelp when we scatter a flock of pigeons, sending them flying off in every direction. Inside, Jax pushes the heavy wooden door shut as I stand back, bending at the waist, gasping for air after dropping my heavy burdens to the floor. My ribs burn like nothing I’ve ever experienced before, and I press a hand to them.

  He notices my obvious pain. “You okay?” he asks, a lot less breathless than me. “Stretch your arms over your head, it will help open your lungs and relieve a side stitch if you have one.”

  I glower at him. He probably works out constantly, training for whatever he does. There’s no fitness component to a desk job and three sessions of yoga and kickboxing a week clearly doesn’t prepare a person for sprinting for their life. In heels. With a heavy metal box. Or a purse the size of Korea. And messed up ribs.

  “Yeah, no, I’m okay,” I pant, though each breath brings a new dose of agony. But I don’t want to let on how much pain I’m in. I still don’t entirely trust him.

  He looks less than convinced. “Let me check you out,” he says, coming toward me and reaching for my belly, pulling up the tank part of my sweater set.

  His fingers sliding across my abdomen send a jolt down low. I jerk away as if splattered by hot grease. “Really, I’m o
kay,” I say, turning away so I won’t fling myself at him, beg him to touch me again.

  My eyes adjust to the dim light of the warehouse, and it looks as though it hasn’t been used by anyone other than partying kids and homeless people in years. A few random mattresses lay here and there, complimented by bottles and garbage. A chill penetrates, and I wrap my arms around myself. Now that the adrenaline rush of the chase is wearing off, I feel very small and scared.

  I need to get away from this man. Away from this city that now seems so sinister. I can’t handle this. But where would I go? Who would I turn to? Trust?

  Do not trust anyone, Mia.

  I still feel the pressure of her fingers digging into my shoulders, the look in her eyes as she said those words to me.

  Am I in shock? I shiver harder, and my legs fight to hold me steady.

  “What’s happening?” I ask out loud to no one in particular. My words echo in the empty space, the ceiling so high above me.

  “What was that?” Jax asks, peering out filmy windows, making sure we haven’t been followed, I assume.

  “What’s happening to me? Why is it happening? I woke up this morning, and it was just a normal day, you know? I got out of bed and had breakfast and fed Libby and watered my plants. Bradley Cooper was on Good Morning America, and he was talking about a new movie he was going to be in, and I texted one of my girlfriends to tell her we should go see it. I stopped at Starbucks for coffee on the way to the office and planned to go to the gym after work. My book club meets tonight.”

  I try to stop my rambling as his cool blue eyes assess me. “Who’s Libby?”

  “My cat.” Oh. My. God. “My cat! Who’s going to feed my cat? She’ll starve or die of dehydration. Oh no, she’ll poop on my bed because she hates to use the litter box if it’s dirty. I have to scoop it twice a day or otherwise—”

  He shakes me. My teeth chatter together, and my ribs scream at the jolt. I punch him in the gut and am satisfied when he exhales a little whoosh, even as my hand goes numb. It feels like I hit a brick wall.

  He rubs his stomach. “Simmer down.”

  Oh. That pisses me off. “Simmer down? Did you just tell me to simmer down?”

  He exhales loudly. “Holy fuck, woman. Are you crazy? We’re on the run from unknown forces, and you’re going nuts about a cat and a few word choices?”

  I stomp my foot. “She’s fourteen years old. I’ve had her since I was twelve. My mom…”

  Gave her to me for my twelfth birthday.

  The words spin around my brain, then die. Just like her. Just like I’m going to. Just like Libby will if I can’t get back to her.

  All because of this stupid box.

  Fury ignites in me. Spinning around, I pick up that metal case and toss it against the wall. It makes a wonderfully loud clanging nose against the cinder blocks and an even more satisfying one when it clatters to the concrete. I pull my leg back to kick it but am pulled away before I can.

  I’m hugged from behind, pressed up against his hard body, one arm just under my breasts, the other over my arms and chest. His breath is warm in my hair as he shushes me, telling me, “It will all be alright.”

  I lift my foot to slam my heel into his instep but end up turning around instead. Pressing my face into his chest, I inhale deeply, the scent of his sweat mingling with the citrus and sandalwood from before. I gasp as his arms close around me tighter, jolting my ribs, but don’t ask him to stop. It’s safe here. So very safe. I’ve never felt as safe as right here, right now.

  “I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he murmurs, and I can feel the movement of his lips against my scalp. I shiver, and he pulls me even tighter, running a hand up and down my spine.

  “I still can’t believe it. I keep expecting to wake up any minute now. But I know I won’t because this is real and I know my life will never be the same.”

  “Life turns on a dime,” he says quietly. “Believe me, I’ve been there. As a Ranger, you get used to random shit happening and turning everything upside down. All of a sudden you have to learn an entirely new set of rules while you’re throwing out everything you lived by just minutes earlier. I get it.”

  I tell myself not to let him get into my head, but I don’t know what else to do. I have no one but him. It’s not as if I can call one of my friends and have them pick me up here. Besides, I can’t put them in that sort of danger. They wouldn’t know what to do, anyway. It’s just me. And this man.

  “We need to find a better place to hide than this,” he says, his hands now moving up and down my arms, warming them. “We’re sitting ducks right here. Let’s find a better spot, then I need to make a call.”

  I nod and step back, missing his warmth immediately. My teeth begin to chatter, and he moves around me, picking his jacket up from the floor. “Here, wear this,” he says as he holds it for me to slip into, his scent wrapping around me like a blanket. “Wait a second.” Facing me again, he rolls up the sleeves until my hands are showing.

  “Thank you.”

  He pushes my hair behind my ear. “You’re welcome. It’s chilly in here, but I also think you’re in shock. It’ll take a little time to wear off, but you’ll be okay.”

  He peers closely at my face, in the dim light filtering through the dirty windows. “Your lip is bleeding again.” He reaches up to my mouth, his thumb wiping the blood away, his fingers a soft caress on my cheek.

  I lick my lip and feel the cut I’d gotten when the huge man slammed me against the wall. Jax stiffens, and I look up at him. His eyes are locked on my mouth. Slowly, I withdraw my tongue and look away before I hurl myself at him.

  He turns and picks the bank box and my bag up off the floor. I want to protest, insist that I’ll carry them. But he reaches out his hand, wanting to gather me to him too. Very slowly I take it, my fingers linking in his. Seconds later, he’s pulling me behind him up a set of clanking metal steps.

  On the upper floor, Jax leads me into a small room, looks out the window and shakes his head. He leads me to another one and does the same thing.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I noticed a fire escape outside.” He leads me to a third room and looks out. “Yes, here it is. We’ll hunker down here. At least it gives us a couple of escape options if needed.”

  I look up at him. “Do you think we’ll need them?”

  He studies my face. “We’ll think of the best and plan for the worst. I’m a ‘safer than sorry’ kind of guy.” He then gives me an apologetic look. “I need to frisk you,” he tells me and lifts up a hand when I begin to protest. “If I’m going to protect you, it means turning my back on you at times. I won’t do that unless I’m sure you aren’t carrying.”

  I stare at him, knowing what he’s saying makes sense. “Well, do I get to frisk you right back?”

  He smirks, that damn dimple popping with the lift of that side of his mouth. “Sweetheart, I’ll straight out tell you I’m carrying. I’m in possession of two guns at the moment and there’s a knife in my sock.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a gun from his waist, then bends and pulls another one from an ankle holster, then a knife from a sheath. Holding the weapons out to his sides, he lifts his arms. “But if it makes you feel better, have at it.”

  Oh, that twisty thing twists lower in my stomach now, spiraling between my legs. I’m not entirely sure, but I think my clitoris spasms and I have to force myself not to squirm. I lift my chin and step forward, patting him down his sides like I’ve seen done on my favorite crime shows.

  Holy muscle. I can feel the ripple of it under my fingers as I touch his front and his back. When I bend to pat down the sides of his legs, I’m face to face with his zipper. I groan and focus my attention back on his legs, patting up his left one until I’m at the crotch. Damn. He’s carrying alright. The outline of his weapon visible now, snaking down his leg. And it’s growing.

  Jumping back to my feet, I practically shout, “You’re clean.”

  The smirk is
back, but he doesn’t even try to hide his obvious erection. Instead, he tucks the other weapons back into place. “Face the wall, legs spread,” he says.

  I swallow and do as I’m told. My eyes roll back in my head as his large hands begin the pat down just below my arm pits, his fingertips barely brushing my breasts. Down they go, past my waist, down my hips, down the outsides of both legs. There, they encircle my left ankle and move up that leg. Up past my calf, my knee, moving up my thigh. I fight not to groan as he gets just centimeters from my center and … switches legs, patting down to my ankle.

  Blowing out a silent breath, I turn to him. “Satisfied?”

  He’s so close that I back up a step, until my back presses against the wall. His eyes travel from my eyes, to my hair, then to my lips, lingering there. He meets my eyes again. “Not even close.”

  I’m not sure how many seconds pass before he steps back and turns toward the window, moving to its side and peeking out. In one corner of the room is a wedge of sunlight. I walk in its direction and sink to the floor. A month from now, Northern California will be warmer, but March days are cool, the nights downright cold.

  I watch him stand vigil at the window, trading places with the door every few minutes to look out, then walking back. No, not walk. Swagger. Yes, swagger is a good word. Not the bowlegged John Wayne cowboy swagger, but a walk that says he’s confident in his skin. Purposeful. His thighs spread apart, not touching with each stride.

  Are his balls that big? I wonder and then drop my face in my hands.

  “You okay?” he asks and crouches in front of me. He presses his hand to my forehead. “You’re flushed, but don’t feel warm.”

  Oh, I’m just thinking about your testicles and how they’d feel slapping my ass while you thrust what is probably a great big penis in and out of me.

  And, of course, my eyes fall directly to his crotch. I groan, and he gives me a cocky, almost knowing, grin. “What are you thinking right now?”