“My suite is secure. And you’ll have me guarding you.”
“I don’t want to sleep in your suite.” God, no. The temptation to betray everything she believed in would be too great.
His lips flattened. “Tough. If you want inside, you’re stuck with me.” He paused and shook his head. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t thinking we’d share a bed. I have a couch. You’ll be in the bedroom. Alone. You can even have a canister of bear spray to snuggle with if you want.”
Twenty-seven percent of her still didn’t trust him, but she feared even more the dangerous joy she felt when she made him laugh, or the flutter in her belly when she met his gaze.
She was terrified of the fact that she’d woken up in his arms yesterday and had been aroused at the feel of his morning erection. Not just aroused. Eager. Needy.
Wanting Alec Ravissant wasn’t the smart thing or the right thing. It was the worst thing.
Right or wrong, they were heading to the compound, and Isabel was finally going to get what she’d been angling for since she moved to Tamarack months ago—she would finally see inside the facility, explore where Vin had lived his last months, and visit the location where he’d died.
The guard inside the gatehouse waved them through without hesitation, and she wondered again what it must be like to be the tiger king. One would think having been abducted and beaten would diminish his swagger, but as far as she could tell, his swagger had suffered no shrinkage. He parked in the open space closest to the main entrance, shut off the engine, and handed her the key, because this was the vehicle that had been delivered to her cabin for her use earlier in the night. She slipped the key into her purse as he jumped out of the car with a show of energy that belied his aches and pains from yesterday.
He grabbed her bag from the trunk. She felt a twinge of worry that Gandalf wasn’t with her, but she’d set out extra food for him, just in case she didn’t return for a day or two.
Alec nodded to a security guard stationed on the front steps of the building, and pushed open the door, pausing to hold it open for her. He resumed his quick pace. Isabel followed, having to walk quickly or be left behind.
In the foyer, Alec nodded to the man behind a desk and kept walking. She followed him, stepping through the glass partition that separated the public front room from the forbidden zone, where yet another man sat at yet another desk. Isabel recognized Nicole’s assistant, Hans. It appeared everyone in the compound had been roused by the incident in her cabin, because she highly doubted Hans was usually at the front station at two thirty in the morning.
Alec continued past. His demeanor seemed to change with the setting. He was no longer the politician, the wounded warrior, or the man with questions only she could answer. Nor was he the Ranger. Now he was the Boss. The man in charge. The alpha tiger.
A purist might point out that tigers were loners and therefore neither alphas nor betas, but to her, Alec was a tiger, and decidedly alpha.
She quickened her pace again to keep up with him. He headed down a mazelike corridor, turning sharply at intersections with the single-minded intensity of Pac-Man pursued by ghosts. Three—or was it four?—turns in, and she was hopelessly lost. There were no markers, no exit signs, nothing to aid her usually keen sense of direction. “What’s with the ant-farm layout? Have you ever found someone huddled at the end of a corridor, delirious from dehydration?”
He cracked a small grin. “Extra security, courtesy of Raptor’s former owner. He was paranoid the compound would be raided and designed the place to be disorienting.” He glanced at her askance, and his grin widened. “It’s almost like he expected you.”
She couldn’t help but smile as she followed him through the endless maze, at last coming to a door no different from any other except it was at the end of a corridor. He punched in a code on the keypad, then twisted the knob. With a sweep of his hand, he bade her to enter a room that could house her small cabin several times over.
Alaska wasn’t known for luxurious comforts, but this room ranked on an entirely different scale. This was luxurious on a sheik’s scale.
“Holy crap. I didn’t know former Rangers had such a big thing for marble.” She crossed the room to the ornate white marble hearth. “It couldn’t have been cheap to truck this monstrosity over the pass.” It had Corinthian columns, for goodness’ sake—tall ones that reached the ceiling flanked the short ones that held up the mantel. As if four columns weren’t bad enough, there were also high-relief angels arching over the open grate.
He closed the door and leaned against it, amusement evident in his eyes. “It’s the ugliest mantel I’ve ever seen. Apparently, Robert Beck had a thing for rococo. I have no idea why he indulged his gaudy tastes here, of all places.”
“Why don’t you get rid of it?”
“It’s a working fireplace. To remove the piece intact would require taking out a wall; otherwise, it would have to be broken. I may not like it, but I’m not about to destroy something functional just because it doesn’t suit my tastes.”
She swept her arm across the room. “And the furniture? You could have switched the tables and”—she shuddered at the carved marble cherub under a lampshade dripping with glass prisms—“lamps without destroying them.”
He shrugged. “The furniture is cold, ugly, and uncomfortable, but I have better things to do than redecorate.”
He pushed off the door and crossed the room. “I did change the bedroom, though. Beck’s bedroom furniture was donated to a shelter in Fairbanks. I wasn’t about to sleep in the bastard’s bed.” He opened a door, and Isabel peered into a large bedroom furnished simply with wood furniture he’d probably purchased from Walt’s Designer Emporium in town. The entire name was tongue-in-cheek, considering it was a catalog shop in the back corner of the general store, operated by a woman named Doreen.
“There’s a bathroom through the far door. The tub has jets and temperature controls and more gadgets than I’ve been able to figure out. Take a bath if you want. Or just go to sleep. That’s what I’m going to do.” He crossed the room and pulled open a door that revealed a walk-in closet. A moment later, he returned with blankets and sheets.
“Make yourself comfortable. You’re safe here. I promise.”
Safe from attack, maybe. But with Alec just outside the door, sleeping on an ugly, uncomfortable couch?
She wondered if she was safe from herself.
The moment he left the room, she plopped onto the bed.
Holy hell. Her life had certainly taken a wild turn. She dropped her head in her hands. She’d spent a lifetime constructing isolationist walls. With the exception of her brother, no one was allowed inside. She had friends, but no one closer than arm’s length. Now, when she needed her barriers most, she discovered she’d built on permafrost, and her foundation was melting.
She’d hugged Joyce. She’d kissed Alec. She was becoming a regular teddy bear.
She’d been attacked in her home but didn’t really remember it. What if… What if she hadn’t been attacked? What if it was all Alec? He’d been there when she woke up. He’d told her she’d called and screamed and said she was in pain. But she had to take his word for it. For all she really knew, her memory of an earthquake in her cabin was a suggested memory. He could have drugged her.
She had nothing to hold on to. Nothing crystal clear to believe.
She mustn’t forget everyone had an agenda. For Alec, charming politician was his primary role.
He wasn’t her friend. He was a power-hungry politician who wanted to control anyone who could tarnish his image. She’d willingly entered the alpha tiger’s territory, but that didn’t mean she was prey to his predator. She wouldn’t let him control her. And she definitely wouldn’t give in to the heat that coursed through her whenever they were alone.
13
Keith Hatcher grabbed his girlfriend, Trina Sorensen, by the waist and pulled her flush against him. He kissed her deeply—probably too deeply for a public display of affection, b
ut just ten feet from the security screen at Dulles Airport, the men and women who worked for TSA were probably immune to inappropriate PDAs after repeated exposure. And Keith was hardly a public figure who needed to keep things rated G like his new boss.
“I’m going to miss you like crazy,” Trina said.
“Same here, babe.”
She frowned. “I know your job is dangerous, but this trip was supposed to be easy. I’m a little annoyed that your first trip on Raptor business feels more like you’re going to Kazakhstan than Alaska.”
Keith shrugged. “I’ve been to Kazakhstan. I’m pretty sure it was worse.”
Trina’s eyes widened. “Really? You’ve never mentioned Kazakhstan. Was it a SEAL mission? Is it classified? I’d love to hear how—”
Keith kissed her again to shush her. They’d only been going out for a month, and he was still getting used to the fact that his military historian girlfriend was more interested in his exploits as a SEAL than most veterans were curious about entire wars. At the point at which a normal person’s eyes glazed over, Trina would start asking questions about troop morale or the underlying economic influences that pushed an individual to bow to a warlord’s commands to storm a NATO stronghold or turn to piracy on the East African coast.
She was adorable but also a little exhausting.
She dropped back to her heels, ending the kiss. “Fine. We’ll talk about Kazakhstan when you get back.”
Trust Trina to remember what they’d been talking about and to see right through his deflection. He smiled. “You got it, babe.”
“Don’t let Alec steamroll Isabel, okay?”
Keith shook his head. “You talk about Isabel like you know her. Alec is the one you know. I’m sure you remember him. The politician? My new boss? The guy who financed your bodyguard a month ago?”
Trina smiled. “Yeah, yeah. Alec can take care of himself. Isabel’s an archaeologist, and you know how the grapevine works. Erica and Mara asked around, and she’s solid. A little messed up—but who wouldn’t be after the way her brother died. Alec is a good guy, but he could have done more to investigate Vincent Dawson’s death.”
Keith grimaced. Rav might have done four hundred and twenty-eight things right in the last year, but he’d dropped the ball once, and Isabel Dawson had stepped forward and made sure the world knew it.
Because of the ongoing investigation and the campaign, only a handful of people knew the truth behind what happened to Rav—that he’d definitely been abducted, beaten, and left for dead, and that Isabel Dawson, of all people, had saved his life—but the media wasn’t likely to be held at bay for long. It was only a matter of time before the full truth came out, and for the sake of the campaign, Carey, Rav’s campaign manager, had floated the idea of casting suspicion on Isabel for the abduction. Carey had argued that Isabel had a well-known vendetta with Raptor and there’d been questions about her mental health.
Isabel Dawson had motive to abduct Rav, and her motive had nothing to do with politics, the military, special ops, Raptor’s mercenary work, or any of a dozen other reasons someone might target Rav. Even more important, unlike a foreign terrorist group, she didn’t have tools of torture or brainwashing at her disposal—and with a seven hour gap in his memory, that was a real concern—making Isabel the ideal villain as far as keeping Rav electable.
Keith had no doubt Carey wanted Isabel to be the culprit and she wouldn’t bat an eye at pinning it on her if the truth would harm the campaign.
With a perfect patsy in the crosshairs, Keith feared the FBI would begin and end their investigation with Isabel Dawson. She might well be guilty, but he didn’t like the idea of anyone being railroaded simply because they were politically convenient. He wanted Alec to win the election so he could stay on as Raptor’s CEO, but no job, not even this one, was worth selling his soul.
Alec smiled at Isabel from his seat at the table and nodded toward the breakfast spread laid out on the marble-topped sideboard. “Help yourself,” he said.
She filled her plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, and fruit and set it across from him on the small table, then turned to grab utensils. He had a tablet in front of him, the modern version of reading the morning paper with breakfast. It felt strangely intimate, sharing breakfast with him, as if this were a morning after. It didn’t help that she’d dreamed about him. Not a sex dream, but the undercurrent of desire had been there, giving the dream a sexual edge. She woke fully aroused and wishing Alec were spooning with her, his morning erection pressed between her thighs.
This was a problem.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
Her dirty mind turned his innocent question into a proposition, and she shook her head to clear it of the sudden fantasy of him clearing the sideboard with the sweep of his arm, then lifting her onto it and sliding deep inside, making her feel much, much better.
“You aren’t feeling better?” he asked, and she realized he took the shake of her head as a negative.
She felt her face flush, knowing she was turning a deep cherry red—the curse of red hair and fair skin. “No, I feel much better.”
He studied her face, and one corner of his mouth kicked up. A little smug and a whole lot sexy. “Care to share what’s making you blush?”
“Not particularly.”
He stood and plucked a strawberry from her plate, then advanced on her, slowly. She couldn’t help but feel like prey as the tiger stalked. She took one step back, then another, until the sideboard pressed into her spine. The same sideboard that had just played a vital role in her quick, hot fantasy. Her breathing turned shallow.
Alec paused before her, but he didn’t clear the marble counter. He didn’t lift her. He didn’t spread her legs and fill her. Instead, he brushed the strawberry over her lips. She couldn’t resist and took a small bite. The sweet juice dampened her bottom lip, and she licked it.
His gaze had fixed on her mouth; he let out a soft growl and bit into the berry himself.
He’d kissed her once, but she’d put an end to it before it could go too far. Now, here she was, wanting another kiss—and much more—so badly she could feel the flush spread from her face to dangerous, hidden regions.
“Your move, Iz.”
She cleared her throat. “I can’t.” Not until she was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that he hadn’t known Vin was murdered and covered it up because it would have destroyed his fledgling candidacy.
“Can’t, or won’t?”
“Both.”
He nodded and stepped back, giving her room to breathe. He popped the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. “Fair enough.”
“When do we head out on our hike?”
“I’m afraid it won’t be until early afternoon. With everything that’s happened, we’ve had to rearrange the schedule. This morning, Falcon team will practice training scenarios in the simulated village and the shoot houses. I need to be there to go over the setup with them.”
Vin had described how realistic the village and shoot houses were, and she’d always wanted to see them and how the trainings were conducted. “Can I join you?”
He frowned and studied her. “They’ll be running through hostage-rescue drills. No live fire—but still, it can be intense. The team will be amped.”
She had a good idea what that meant. After all, as a teen, she’d lived on base with Vin. She’d particularly enjoyed the times he invited his fellow soldiers over. Just watching football could send testosterone levels through the roof. Much to Vin’s irritation, at sixteen she’d found it a rush to be surrounded by pumped-up nineteen- to twenty-one-year-old men in prime fighting shape. Her jailbait age combined with her brother’s threats of bodily harm to any guy who touched her ensured—much to her irritation—nothing ever happened with any of Vin’s friends.
“What does that smile mean?” Alec asked.
“I was just thinking it’s been a long time since I’ve hung out with a group of handsome, amped-up soldiers. Pretty please can I go?�
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His eyes narrowed. “I don’t think I like the idea of you getting excited about watching Fraser and Sifuentes.”
She couldn’t help but grin. “I have a feeling you can hold your own with Brad and Nate. Besides, Brad’s taken.” Truthfully, she wanted to see Alec—and only Alec—in soldier mode. “I promise to stay out of the way.”
His mouth quirked up at one corner. “Your reputation for getting in the way precedes you.” His eyes were a warm blue, and she realized the swelling was now completely gone. “But this might be the only way to keep you out of trouble while I’m with Falcon.” He nodded. “Fine. You can join us.”
“Thank you.” On impulse, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.
He slid an arm around her waist before she could slip away. “We’ll set out after breakfast.” His voice lowered as his eyes flared with heat. “Although I can delay it. One of the benefits of being the boss.”
She imagined the cold marble of the sideboard under her bare ass, her head banging into the wall as he pounded into her. So very, very tempting. She cleared her throat. “No. After breakfast is fine.”
“How many people do you have to play the market crowd?” Alec asked Nicole as they strolled between the rows of wooden stalls in the fake outdoor market.
Two rows away, Isabel paused to admire the setting. The stalls were set up to simulate an open-air market in the Middle East or any of a dozen different terrorist hotspots. According to Nate, they had different “product” props to fill the tables, depending on which scenario they were running. Today the tables were empty, the props stored in Conex boxes tucked in the woods well away from the training area, so as not to interfere with the authenticity of the setting.
Nicole and Alec were conferring about the training for US Army soldiers that would begin on Wednesday as Nate gave her a tour of the facility.
Vote Then Read: Volume II Page 248