by Lora Leigh
Morganna continued to watch him as he stalked over to the bank of computers Macey was working at. Now wasn't this just a surprising development. The musician in question hadn't been her lover; actually, his lover had been his bass player. A very handsome young man who had idolized him. But Shawn Kevin had been desperate to uphold the image of heterosexuality. Why, Morganna had never really understood. But he had been nice and, for a while, interesting. Morganna had no idea Clint had actually been jealous of him.
Shaking her head, she pulled her purse from her shoulder and unsnapped it. Extracting the cell phone from inside, she laid the purse on the table, then returned to the refrigerator to collect a bottle of water.
Punching in Raven's number, Morganna let it ring until the messaging system came on.
"There's trouble, Raven. Reno has to call." She flipped the phone closed as she pulled out the water.
Clint was talking on his cell phone, obviously calling in the team he and Reno normally worked with. She knew from the wedding that several of them were on leave until after Reno's honeymoon.
"I can't find Markwell." Clint flipped the phone closed as he turned back to Macey. "Kell and Ian are still in town; Max headed out to Texas to catch up with some friends there. That leaves Markwell unaccounted for."
"Let's see if we can find our boy then." Macey turned back to the computers. "I know Kell and Ian have been going between the clubs. They were the ones keeping an eye on your bit of sweets," he snickered as Clint slapped at the back of his head.
As Clint hovered over the other man's shoulder, Morganna eased closer to him. She felt chilled. Uncertain. Too much was happening too fast, and the implications of the battle facing them seemed overwhelming.
In that moment, Morganna realized the extent of her inexperience. She was trained to watch, to shoot. She wasn't prepared to go against international terrorists and drug runners such as the Fuentes Cartel was rumored to be.
As she neared him, she was surprised when Clint's arm came around her and he pulled her against him. Just like that, he tucked her against his chest, his gaze never leaving the computer Macey was working on.
"Shit. What's this?" Macey hit a key, bringing up several pictures and a text report.
Morganna recognized the picture. Devin Markwell. He was young, smiling. Beside that picture was a chalked outline of a body in a garbage-ridden alley.
"No fucking way," Macey muttered as Clint tightened beside her. "This happened this morning. He was found outside a bar in downtown." Macey shook his head before turning back to Clint, his gaze shocked. "He's dead, Clint."
"How?" Clint's voice hardened, chilled.
Macey turned back to the computer, hitting more keys, his fingers flying over the keyboard until another page came up. "They found another guy. A naturalized South American. A dealer." His voice was quiet, emotionless. "Devin was beat to death. The dealer was gutted like a fish. Santos. Wasn't Santos-"
"Part of the Fuentes Cartel. He's Roberto Maneulo's bastard brother. He was born here. But Roberto has looked after him." Clint finished for Macey before a curse sizzled from his lips. "And Roberto is a member of the Masters clubs."
Morganna stood still, staring at the picture of the dealer on the screen.
"He's one of the three men Joe arrested at Diva's," she said quietly. "He was the one dosing the drink with the date rape drug. There was Santos, Robert Lewis, and Donny Caine."
Macey typed in the names. "Dead." The report wasn't unexpected at this point. "Found this morning. Lewis and Caine were found this evening outside town. Suspected drug deal gone bad."
"Fuentes is cleaning house," Clint said. "He tried to hit me and Morganna this evening."
"Check for Roberto Manuelo," Morganna suggested. "He's our suspect at the moment in the supply of the drug. Though there was no report of a suspected connection to the cartel. I also saw him in Diva's Downstairs the night we were there."
The search took longer. Morganna nibbled at her thumbnail as Macey pounded on the keys, cursed, sweet-talked the computer, then finally grew silent.
"Manuelo is breathing," he finally said. "His cell phone number matches that of the ones I've been tracking since the search for you and Clint began. I caught your names being bandied on the receiver I use to monitor unsecured cells." He flashed her a cold smile. "He's leading the search."
"Not for long."
Morganna jerked around, staring up at Clint as he stood alone several feet from her.
"Contact the Admiral, Macey," Clint ordered, the muscles in his jaw working tensely. "We have a possible hit on our men. We need Reno's location checked, secured, and he needs to be apprised of Markwell's death."
"I'm on it." Macey turned back to the computer as Morganna stared back at Clint.
"What are you going to do?" she asked, though she sensed she already knew.
He stared back at her, his blue eyes blazing in his dark face. He seemed so remote, so self-contained. This was the Clint that worried her. Cold. Unemotional. This Clint needed no one, especially not her.
"I'm going to take care of it, Morganna," he told her softly. "However I have to."
"The Admiral is in contact with Reno as we speak." Macey's voice was clipped. "He's moving himself and Raven to an undisclosed location for the time being. He warns you to keep Morganna locked up."
There was no amusement in Macey's voice. His voice was just as hard as Clint's.
First Nathan during the operation in Colombia, now Markwell. And if Fuentes wasn't taken out, then he would come after Morganna again. He wasn't a man who gave up. but he also wasn't an easy man to take out. He surrounded himself with lackeys, with men willing to die for him, to protect him no matter the consequences.
"I have to get rid of the truck." Clint had to get out of there, he had to track down information, and he had to do it alone. "Macey, keep her down here." He turned to the other man, seeing the horror in his eyes. "If I'm not back in five hours, you know what to do."
"No!" Morganna's eyes widened in fear. "You're not leaving me here-"
"The hell I'm not," Clint growled fiercely, gripping her shoulders as she rushed up to him, clamping them tight, staring into her eyes as the rage and pain burning in his stomach threatened to overwhelm him. "You're safe here and I don't know what the hell is waiting out there. You're not trained for this, Morganna, and you know it."
"I can watch your back." She was shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears.
"No, Morganna," he snapped, the thought of her out there, in the line of fire, more than he could handle. "I have to check some sources, I have to ditch that truck and find out what the hell I'm looking at. I can't do that with you with me, baby."
He couldn't kill while she watched. She was strong, stronger than he ever imagined, but he couldn't bear for her to see him as he really was.
"Macey." He didn't have to turn to the other man.
"I got her, man," he swore. "She won't move from here. I swear it."
"I need you to do this, Morganna."
He watched the knowledge in her expression that he was right and the impotent anger that filled her eyes. She knew -he wasn't experienced enough, and it was eating at her, tearing through her.
But God help him, even if she had been, he wouldn't have been able to take her with him. He was a killer. Stone cold. Without remorse when it came to the enemy. And Fuentes and any of his men were the enemy.
"Macey, find out if Markwell was into anything. If this was a personal hit. Get Kell and Ian out here; we'll need their help."
"I'm on it." Macey stood behind Morganna, prepared to stop her if she tried to follow Clint. He was terrified she would try to do just that.
He jerked her into his arms because he couldn't help himself. His lips covered hers, tasting her tears, her fear, then her heat. Pulling back, he pushed her to Macey. Clint didn't wait to be sure the other man was holding her back; he knew Macey would. Clint ignored her cry, ignored the need to touch her one more time before he move
d quickly for the stairs.
"Macey, I need some hardware." He detoured to the other side of the room, moving behind the stairwell to Macey's stash.
"Take what you need."
He did. He chose quickly, pushing ammo into a small duffel before slinging the automatic rifle over his shoulder and pushing the handgun into his waistband. Ignoring Morganna's arguments, he raced up the stairs and through the open entrance.
Fuentes had caught him unaware. It wouldn't happen again. He knew the monster stalking them now, and he'd be damned if he would let the bastard touch Morganna.
Chapter 20
"DAMN YOU, CLINT," MORGANNA CURSED as Clint disappeared up the stairs and left the basement. She raced up the steps, catching the wall as it clicked shut behind Clint's exit, effectively blocking her in once again. She pounded her fist against the wall before kicking out at it furiously.
Stomping back down the stairs, she faced the quiet, somber Macey as violence surged through her.
"He can't do this alone." She had seen the grief in his eyes, soul deep, filling his being and breaking her heart. "Go with him, Macey."
"Chill out, babe," he sighed, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he glared down at her. "You're forgetting who you're dealing with here. You're a hazard out there with him, just as he said. And so am I. Let him keep his head clear; he doesn't need to come back here to find you in Fuentes' hands." "He hasn't caught me yet," she snapped. Macey snorted. "He hasn't really tried, darlin'. Fuentes has been playing. It's what he excels at. He'll play in earnest now. He's taken out one of our men and that's not an easy thing to do. Right now, Clint needs to do what he does best. Hunt. While I do what I do best and track."
She flinched, stepping back as helplessness washed over him.
"They killed his men," she whispered. "He's destroyed, Macey-"
"He's a SEAL, Morganna." Macey rolled his eyes at her. "He's lost more friends than you can imagine. Nathan last year and now Markwell is a heavy hit, I admit, but he's stone cold when he's in work mode; don't you doubt it. That boy is an instrument of death right now, and you don't want to see that. Hell, you don't need to see that."
"He's hurting-"
"He's out for vengeance." Macey's smile was cold. Hard. "And trust me when I say Clint knows how to do death the right way. So just chill out and let him do his thing. Staying safe is the best way you can help him."
Her gaze flicked to the monitors then, seeing Clint step into the garage, the black-and-white monitor showing more than color ever could have.
The shadows shifting around his expression sent a shiver up her spine. His eyes were cold, hard. Chips of dark ice as he moved to the truck. He looked like death.
"Yeah, hell of a change, huh?" Macey grunted as he caught her expression. "He'll be back, Morganna. I can promise you that. He knows what he's facing, and he has more than his own life to fight for. He won't fail."
She stared back at him, hating the tears falling from her own eyes, hating the helplessness that filled her.
"What does he have left?" she whispered. "All he does is fight."
He shook his head slowly. "Clint's loyal to his men, don't doubt it," he growled. "But something anyone who really knew Clint understood was that you are his soul. He fights it. He denies it, but trust me, Morganna. Clint's not fighting for friends or family now, or for himself. You're his innocence, girl. And that a man would fight the devil himself for."
She shook her head slowly. "He'll always fight loving me."
"He likes to think he can," Macey grunted. "There's not many of us who know Clint down deep like I know him, sweetcakes. Me and Reno. We know Clint to the bone. And we know what you mean to him. Don't doubt that."
"How can you know this?" She hoped, prayed. She kept her confidence intact when Clint was around, but he hid so much from her. Kept too much to himself.
Macey grimaced as he turned away from her for a moment, watching as the gray pickup eased from the back drive, [be lights off as darkness shadowed it.
"I've seen him when he can't hide." Macey cleared his throat softly. "Me, Reno, his men. Clint was hurt pretty bad once; we didn't know if he would make it until we could get him to the pickup point. Reno, uhh, told him you were hurt. Told him you were crying for him." He shook his head as she stared back at him in shock. "He fought like a madman to live. He shouldn't have survived, but he did. And he will now."
His dark eyes bored into her as he turned back to her. "You do what that boy tells you to do and you'll stay safe. If he wants you trussed in cotton and hid in a corner, then you DO it. Because if he lost you, I don't think he would survive, and maybe that's something you'd better think about."
LEAVING MORGANNA ALONE WITH MACEY was hell. Beneath the rage and pain, and the knowledge that another part of the team that he called family was gone because of Fuentes, was the knowledge that another man was protecting his woman.
Forcing the jealousy, the possessiveness, into the distant corners of his brain wasn't easy, but the violence swirling through his head made it easier. Fuentes had made a serious mi stake in thinking he could strike at Morganna for any reason as long as Clint was alive. This was the reason Fuentes had fallen the first time, because he liked to play games.
Fuentes had been convinced he was the master games-man. He'd been wrong. His wife, Carmelita, had been the true strategist. She had allowed Fuentes to believe he was the mastermind of the cartel, but that black-hearted bitch he had married had been the true mastermind. And she had wielded that power with effortless ease through the easily manipulated Fuentes.
It didn't take long for Clint to pick his tail back up or to lead the bastards where he needed them. They weren't stupid; Clint gave them credit for that. It took him nearly an hour to "lose" them again and to make certain they spotted the pickup parked behind Diva's.
Watching from the shadows, he waited as the three men left the sedan and made their way into the club before he moved. He knew the fourth had held back; Clint had watched him slide into position along the shadows of the back of the building, with a clear view of the truck.
Yeah, they were good. Some of Fuentes' finest, and if Clint wasn't mistaken, the little prick watching the truck was one of his highest lieutenants. It was just a sad day when you had to use your best men to play trackers. But Manuelo was no place to be found.
Fuentes' soldier was good, but taking him out was easy. Clint slipped from position, careful to stay low until he was only feet away from assassin wannabe. He hefted the blade he held in his hand before drawing back slowly, then letting it go with a powerful flip of his wrist.
The body slid slowly down the side of the building without a sound. Clint moved quickly to the fallen form, rifling through pockets and shoving the contents into the pack at his side to go through later.
As quickly as he moved in, he was fading into the shadows, moving into position to wait for the other three. Taking them out wasn't much harder. They hadn't expected him to be waiting for them. He dragged each one back to their vehicle, throwing him in quickly before closing the door and patting the hood triumphantly with the pad of his thin leather gloves and connecting a small receiver to his ear.
"Macey, four down. Am I clear?"
"Clear, Ice," Macey spoke. "I have a report on Loader," he said then, his voice soft as he used Markwell's code name. "He was called out at zero hundred hours last night. A call to his cell from good ole Santos reporting information he needed to give Loader for Ice." Clint was Ice. The Iceman. "They arranged a meet and the rest is blood."
"How did he know who to contact?"
"That one's up in the air," Macey reported. "But he called Max's cell, too, left the same message. Important information for Ice and a request for a meeting. That's all we have."
Their cells and numbers were secure. Son of a bitch, how had one of Fuentes' men gotten hold of them?
"We have more than one mole," Clint murmured.
"Roger that," Macey agreed.
"I'm making
a stop inside Diva's; then I'm clear," Clint reported. "Expect me in sixty. If I'm not there, contact the remainder of the teams and secure the kitten."
Morganna had to stay safe at all costs.
Pulling the receiver from his ear and tucking it into the small pack on his belt, Clint headed for the back entrance of Diva's.
The private room he kept there held a small store of cash, fake IDs, and a few credit cards. He had learned enough over the years to become one paranoid son of a bitch where protection was concerned.
The dimly lit hallway was empty as he moved inside, the hard thump of the music pounding through the walls as he strode quickly to his private room. He was under no illusion that Drage wasn't watching for him. It shouldn't have surprised him to find out the club owner was involved with Joe in this mess. Drage Masters was a sly bastard, living just on the light edge of complete criminal intent and somehow managing to keep his balance.
Clint pulled the key card from his wallet, swiped it quickly through the security bar, and watched for the green light. He kept the gun securely against his thigh as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Son of a bitch.
His lips thinned at the sight of the couple leaning negligently against the bar on the other side of the room. Speak of the devil and he will come, followed by his gun-toting demoness.
"I don't have time for you, Masters," Clint growled. "Clear out."
Drage sighed patiently as he turned to Jayne Smith and nodded slowly. A grin tugged at her lips as she reached to the other side of the bar and lifted a small wooden box to the top of the well-polished teak bar.
Damn. Maybe Clint's stash wasn't hidden as well as he had thought it was.
"You will find it untampered with," Drage commented softly as Clint closed the door behind him. "I assume time is of the essence, so I thought I would make it easier for you." "What do you want?" Clint kept his weapon lowered, though his finger lingered on the trigger. A fact that his host was well aware of, if the tightening of his lips as he glanced at the gun was any indication.