Renegade

by Susan Sheehey

  “You won’t need that.”

  “But I need my license.”

  He stepped closer and stroked the back of his hand down her cheek. “Trust me. Leave it here.”

  Okay, now he had her worried.

  After locking the door behind her, she looked to the curb. There sat Jace’s motorcycle, as it had before. But now a pink and white helmet rested on the seat. She didn’t need a Ph.D to figure out the helmet was for her. Her steps slowed. “Oh Jace. I really have no interest in riding a motorcycle.”

  He moved in and wrapped his arm around her waist, drawing her into his hips. “Babe, we’ll just go for a little drive, maybe into the mountains a bit. We’ll take it slow. I would love to take you for a spin on my bike. Something I love and want to share with you.”

  She fell speechless. She had the distinct feeling this was a big deal for him. Sweat accumulated inside her gloves.

  “You’ll be holding onto me.” He grinned, his stare so playful.

  Oh geez. “Okay. Maybe just around the block.” She rubbed her lips together as he slipped on the helmet and tightened the strap.

  Breathe.

  Lynée was the farthest thing from a daredevil. She preferred to play it safe. One summer, during her short marriage, Todd wanted to take her to the amusement park and ride the tallest rollercoaster. He said it would be fun. Not for her. Rollercoasters were scary. They’d gone on a kayaking trip instead. How Jace was able to so easily talk her into riding with him, she might never understand.

  “You look like a badass in this helmet.” He winked.

  “Oh, the pink does it for you, huh?”

  “Combined with the black leather jacket, hell yeah.” He mounted the bike. “Okay. Get on from the left side. Put your foot here.” He pointed to the peg by the rear tire.

  Am I really about to do this?

  She took a deep breath, placed her left foot on the peg, and swung her right leg over the seat.

  “Very good. Now, wrap your arms around my waist.”

  She slipped her arms around his middle, and breathed in the manly leather scent, a unique combination with his cologne.

  He raised her hand to his lips and planted a quick kiss on her knuckles.

  The bike started, the engine roaring to life between her legs. The whole thing vibrated through her entire body.

  Jace maneuvered them to the street. She gripped his jacket with all her might as he took off down the road. To his credit, he took it slow, just as he’d promised.

  They drove around the block a few times, and eventually, her arms relaxed. He asked if she was ready to try another route, and she agreed. They climbed into the mountains, weaving along up the side, breathing in the freshest air in the country. When the tall evergreens thinned out, more of the snow-capped mountain range came into view. The brilliant, crisp majesty of it all was positively breathtaking.

  “How ya’ doing?” he called back to her.

  “Beautiful,” Lynée answered. The longer they drove, the more at ease on the motorcycle she became. Her grip wasn’t as tight around his waist, and her face wasn’t glued to the back of his shoulder. She probably didn’t need to worry. She was with Jace. He’d never let anything happen to her. That she knew with all her being.

  After driving for an hour, they returned to Cascade Creek for lunch.

  Killing the engine and helping her with her helmet, Jace asked, “How was that?”

  She beamed, the residual vibrations fading from her legs. “That was incredible. I can see why motorcycle clubs are so popular up here. So free and exhilarating.”

  He grinned. “I’m glad you liked it. C’mon, let’s go eat.”

  Before she let him move an inch, she threw her arms around him.

  He caught her easily, squeezing her back. “Whoa.”

  “Jace, thank you. That was thrilling.”

  “Anytime, Bell,” he said close to her ear.

  Lynée’s body ached in the most beautiful ways, with each step down the stairs. Though the wood floors were cold under her slippers, she was all warm and fuzzy inside. Not just because she was wrapped in her robe. Sublime lovemaking made her feel all alive inside. Sore, but alive.

  She started a pot of coffee and planned to spiff up a mountainous breakfast for the mountain of divine muscle still sleeping in her bed. After cracking a few eggs into a bowl and using the last of the milk, the garbage can was full. They’d been otherwise occupied with all the research and sex the previous several days, she’d even missed her trash day.

  With a quick change to a fresh liner, she unlocked the back door and dragged the full bag to the garbage can on her patio. The air was frigid, and the morning light was pale, fighting to warm up the world.

  Holy cow, Jace had accomplished that for her so perfectly. Warming up her world.

  She turned to walk back up the stairs and tripped.

  Her body fell forward. Something strong wrapped around her face.

  She yelped, but the sound stopped against the gloved hand over her mouth. A jab in her side made her crumple, but her whole body squeezed against a form at her back, keeping her from hitting the ground.

  Someone dragged her backward. The paving stone caught her slipper and ripped it off.

  “Where are they?” a vicious voice muttered into her ear. The thick accent low and cold, the sound freezing her spine.

  She clawed at the oppressive hand over her mouth, pulling her back so hard, she was sure her skin was bruised. Shaking her head didn’t loosen his hold, and biting did nothing against the leather gloves. Pleading eyes glued to the back door, willing Jace to follow her outside. To see the intruder and save her. But it was pointless. He was still soundly asleep in her bed.

  “Tell me where they are,” the voice continued. “And I’ll make this quick.” The painful jab at her side twisted, and she realized it was the barrel of a gun.

  They?

  He dragged her farther back toward the gate that led to her garage. Beyond that was the back drive that connected everyone’s driveways on the street. She would easily disappear, and no one would ever see.

  If she could get her mouth free just enough for Jace to hear her scream, that was her only chance.

  “Where are they hiding, puta?”

  It hit her suddenly. He was talking about Skye and Reed. This was the sicko from the cartel trying to murder her best friend. Now he was using Lynée to find them. Just as Jace had predicted.

  She blinked back tears, trying to force her brain to calm down so she could think her way out of this.

  The back door opened.

  Her heart froze.

  Jace’s irritated face stepped out. He was shirtless and barefoot but had managed to throw on a pair of jeans. “I thought I told you not to go outside alone, Bell. What are you—”

  His gaze caught hers.

  In the instant, it took her to scream against the hand, her lover’s face paled, and he reached into his back waistband.

  Her assailant aimed his weapon at Jace and fired. The bullet went wide and hit the flower pot next to his ankle.

  Jace ducked to the side and jumped the steps to hide behind the fence for cover.

  The man tightened his grip around her shoulders. The drag backward grew more urgent to find his own cover. She was his human shield. “Come on out, lover boy,” he called.

  God help her, this was it. This was how everything was going to end. Tears streamed freely from her cheeks. She’d urged Skye into fighting for what she loved and helping Reed. Only to have all of them end up dead from this psychopath.

  Get it together, woman. She looked around in her limited scope, forcing herself to calm down and find a way out. If she had to die—if this were her last moment on Earth—she would make sure Skye was safe. She would use the very advice she’d given her best friend only a few weeks before. To fight back. To fight for what she loved.

  But how?

  A car door slammed shut down the street. Seconds later, a different voice called from
over the bushes. “Agent Ivy? Miss Clark?”

  Sheriff Wyatt.

  She screamed again, but nothing went past the man’s hand.

  From behind the fence, Jace hollered in a commanding voice, “Four-seventeen! The bastard has Lynée!”

  * * *

  Jace called himself every single derogatory name he could think of. He’d let down his guard for one blissful moment, and now the woman he loved had a gun to her head.

  Control. Regain control.

  He gripped his pistol and forced his mind to focus on procedure. Four-seventeen was the police code for assailant with a gun, but he couldn’t remember the one for hostage. At least one blessed thing was going right—he had backup every night at Lynée’s house.

  From the brief glimpse he’d gotten of Lynée’s captor, he was the same man from the bathroom photo. Dark, leathery skin, and even darker, evil eyes. And the same size as Jace, if not an inch or two taller. One big fucker. Holding Lynée like a ragdoll.

  Jace’s hunch about the cartel coming after her as a way to find Monroe was right. The one damn time he wanted to be wrong…

  Tears streamed down her cheeks, her eyes so wide and panicked. Her terrified face twisted his heart like wringing out a rag with steel spikes. No other moment in his life was more horrifying than seeing her in the clutches of this madman.

  “Ivy, what’s your twenty?” the sheriff called from off to the side.

  If he answered that, it would give away his location to the gunmen, too. So he answered the question the sheriff should’ve asked. “He’s by the garage, holding Lynée in front of him.”

  The unmistakable sound of a crackling radio came off to his side as the sheriff called in for backup. “Shots fired, hostage situation.” He gave the address.

  Jace peeked around the other side of the fence for a better vantage point. He moved between bushes, trying to get closer and find a clear shot. All he’d need was one.

  Another shot rang out, the bullet zipping by his head. Damn, this guy was a good shot.

  He ducked behind the neighbor’s car, keeping his feet behind the tire. Daring a glance over the trunk, he swallowed hard.

  The guy had hauled Lynée behind the garage, his expression gleeful. He muttered something in her ear, though he was too far to hear the words. Whatever he’d said had pissed her off from the fire raging in her eyes. She bucked and wailed, flailing her arms to loosen his hold. The back of her head clocked his chin, and he swore. Dropping his hand from her mouth.

  Her scream pierced the air in a sickening sound that amped up his heart rate even more.

  A gunshot followed, echoing down the street.

  Jace flinched.

  “Let her go!” Wyatt called. His bullet missed the bastard and lodged into the garage siding.

  Dammit! The sheriff had nearly gotten Lynée. She was struggling and flailing so much; it was too risky to take that shot.

  The cartel demon aimed his weapon straight for Wyatt and fired. The sheriff dove back toward his cover spot, but not quick enough. He yelped and grunted behind the fence. Followed by silence.

  “Wyatt, call out.”

  It was a long few seconds before the sheriff finally answered with a strained voice. “I’m hit.”

  “Fuck,” Jace muttered and glanced back at the garage. The prick had dragged Lynée farther down the driveway, making his way toward a car several houses down. She was kicking and thrashing. But that brute was too strong. And massive. His arm only tightened around her mouth to keep her from screaming more. The photo hadn’t displayed just how big this monster was.

  He aimed at Jace and fired again. The bullet lodged into the other side of the car.

  If he made it to his vehicle, getting Lynée back alive would be infinitely harder. He needed her alive, but only long enough for her to get the information he wanted. In whatever painful and gruesome way he could.

  The thought enraged Jace to the point of blinding hatred. He had to save her from that torture.

  Dammit, just one good shot. That’s all I need. Come on, baby.

  All of her struggling made the demon’s sleeve pull away from his glove. One more thrash, and he slipped. Lynée’s mouth clamped down on his wrist, her teeth sinking in.

  He howled and yanked his hand back.

  Dropping her to the ground.

  Jace stood and inhaled. Then fired.

  His shot missed.

  The guy raised his gun right at him. His gaze glared savage and evil.

  Jace fired again.

  The bullet went straight through the man’s eye. A bright puff of red mist exploded behind his head. His body crumpled beside Lynée.

  She skittered away, managing to get to her feet and lunging herself at Jace.

  The coconut shampoo in her hair never smelled so sweet. Just as he’d never held anyone so tightly. But he didn’t dare take his aim off the bastard’s body.

  He didn’t want to let her go. But he had to. “Go check on Wyatt.” He moved forward and kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand. Behind him came the distant sound of Lynée calling on the sheriff’s radio for an ambulance, her voice shaking.

  Standing over the son of a bitch and his bloodied head, he thought the image would’ve made him feel justified. That right had won over evil once again. Gore had never bothered him before, nor had shooting someone. That was his job, to protect others. But this time, knowing the stakes were the highest he’d ever faced…protecting Lynée…losing Lynée…

  He forced himself to step away, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins at a strange pace. Sweat dripped down his face, and the muscles in his jaw worked, grinding his teeth together.

  Lynée hunched over Wyatt, with blood splattered on her robe and on her cheek. A red, savage curtain drop over Jace’s vision.

  The fury in his gut raged to a boil. He turned and made the three steps to Lynée’s metal lawn chairs. He easily lifted one over his shoulder and threw it down the driveway. A roar may have escaped his mouth, he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear anything other than the thrumming between his ears. The next chair went flying, crashing against the fence. He grabbed the edge of the wrought iron table and flipped it. The crash wasn’t as satisfactory as he’d hoped. He needed to break something.

  “Jace! Jace!”

  He couldn’t quite hear the voice clearly when the third chair bounced off the tree and crashed onto the upturned table.

  “Jace Ivy!”

  He turned in the direction of his name.

  Lynée stood by Wyatt, both of them staring at him. The sheriff’s face was pale.

  “I need your help here,” she said in a calmer tone.

  He forced a deep breath, willing his feet to move. His chest heaved from exertion. A glance at the destroyed lawn furniture told him just how badly he’d lost his shit.

  Pull it together, Ivy.

  “Jace, I need your help with Wyatt,” Lynée pleaded.

  Right. Wyatt was hit.

  He jogged over and bent down to see blood, soaking the man’s thigh. He quickly felt for the bullethole and checked for an exit point on the other side of his leg. With two hands, he clamped down on the wound. A groan tore from Wyatt’s mouth. “Hang in there. Pressure is your friend right now.”

  His gaze landed on Lynée, who stared at him, fear written all over her face.

  Police sirens sounded in the distance, closing in quickly. Hopefully, the ambulance wasn’t too far behind.

  Lynée was likely in shock, and Jace’s outburst made it worse. Fuck!

  Sheriff Wyatt had suffered a life-threatening shot in the leg, straight through the femoral artery. But he’d survived, the surgery was a success, and he should make a relatively-full recovery. Though his career was probably over, Lynée had overheard the surgeon say.

  Countless police and DEA officials had swarmed her house most of the day after she’d returned from the hospital, and she’d had to recount the events several times. Each time more unbearable than the next. Jace had been inte
rviewed by even more people, though he’d stayed as close as possible to her. Constantly hugging her whenever he could, rubbing her back and kissing her forehead.

  She got the feeling from the sideways glances of the other DEA agents that maybe he wasn’t supposed to be doing that. But he clearly didn’t care.

  Hours later surveying all the boxes and computer equipment in her house, her muscles still refused to release their tension. And she still couldn’t get her hands to stop shaking.

  Emilio Cortez.

  That had been the cartel assassin’s name. Hired for one purpose: find Reed and take him out. He’d killed several people to achieve his goal already, and she had nearly been the latest one.

  The only reason she was still alive was because of Jace. The only reason Skye and Reed were still alive as well.

  Jace.

  Thankfully, he’d already called the other pair and verified they were safe. Her best friend was terrified for Lynée and wanted to return immediately. In her heart, Lynée wanted her back as well. But Jace wouldn’t hear of it.

  They still hadn’t discovered the identity of the mole.

  The timeline on the corkboard stared at her, mocking her…they still hadn’t finished.

  Will this ever end? Will Skye ever be able to come home?

  Will Jace leave when that happens?

  The sun was setting, and everyone had finally left, Jace locking the door behind them.

  Images of him throwing her patio furniture still replayed in her head along with every other horrific scene from the morning. She was spent.

  “I need a shower,” she announced. Maybe that would help ease the tension in her body. And get her away from a case that she now begrudged. She pulled on the sofa armrest to get herself standing.

  “Wait a second.” Jace sat beside her and took her hand. “We need to talk about this.”

  “I know, I shouldn’t have gone outside without you, and I’m sorry that all this—”

  “No, Lynée. That’s not what I…” He gripped her hands tighter. “This was not your fault. You need to know that. So don’t apologize.” He sighed, his shoulders slumping as though a huge weight sat on his neck. “I need to apologize.”