Chapter Twenty
Blade
I fucked three orgasms out of her, then filled the condom.
On my last thrust, she passed out. Or hit subspace.
My cock soaked, I pulled out of her tight-as-hell cunt and picked her up.
Wet hair everywhere, face almost peaceful, body limp, I carried her to the shit couch and laid her down.
She immediately turned onto her stomach.
Staring down at the only woman who’d ever taken my full length, I had to compartmentalize absolute head fuck over that before I took off the condom. Knotting it, I shoved it into my pocket, then zipped myself up. “Woman.”
She let out a soft moan but didn’t move.
I went back to the bathroom, grabbed her cell, and swiped.
No password.
Also no contacts, no incoming call history, and no photos except one of me and another of my rental. No searches on the internet browser, and no name programmed in the settings. The only thing the cell had on it was a shitload of texts to the same number. Most of them begging whoever it was to call her.
One asked if she was supposed to check on the house while the recipient was off saving the world .
The third to last text said she was using the key the recipient had given her.
The key I’d fucking swiped right out from under her before shoving it into my pocket.
Scanning the texts one more time, I memorized her number and the one she’d texted. Then I deleted the photos and texts, went to the Reset command, and tapped Erase All Content and Settings so she couldn’t recover the images.
Setting the phone back down, I grabbed her clothes and quickly folded them before heading back to the living room. Making sure my steps were silent, I set her shit down, then glanced at her. Face buried, hair splayed, and that ass. Christ, she was hot.
Crazy, but hot.
When I had two fingers in her cunt, I knew she wasn’t gonna break. Or use a fucking safe word. Not without more pressure, and I didn’t do that shit to women.
Checking out her ass one more time before silently heading to the kitchen, I aimed for her purse that she’d stowed under the fucking sink. Admittedly, it was smart. I hadn’t checked there when I’d done recon.
Not that it would’ve mattered.
Thirty seconds later, I had no new intel on her. She didn’t have an ID. Her wallet only had a five-dollar bill. She carried a change of clothes, small toiletries kit, and she had one key. A brandless, non-transponder car key.
No meds, no drugs, no house keys.
No fucking name.
If I wasn’t aiming for recon on my brother or his woman, this chick’s purse that was sparser than my go bag would’ve been impressive.
Dumping the purse back where I’d found it, not bothering to arrange it exactly how it was, I hit the back door and opened it an inch. Scanning the dark yard, listening, I gave it a second.
Cicadas, tree frogs, distant Latin music.
None of it louder than my own damn heartbeat ringing in my ears.
Fuck Alpha and his transition plan.
Fuck civilian life.
Exfilling the house, I pulled the door shut, stepped off the back porch, and was almost to the street when my cell vibrated.
Scanning the block, checking my six, I yanked the damn thing from my pocket and answered without taking my eyes off the street. “What?”
“You’re not answering your AES cell.”
November. Christ. “What do you want?”
“Police scanner had an incident that matched the geo location of your cell and rental.”
Unlocking the Tahoe, I got behind the wheel. “How the fuck do you know that?”
“It’s my job to track all AES employees, including but not limited to cell phones, vehicles, aircraft, laptops, devices, residences, and digital footprints. In this instance, I was tracking your cell, and Alpha gave me the license plate of your rental.”
Jesus fucking Christ . On multiple counts. “Do you sleep?” I didn’t bother asking if he’d hacked the car rental’s shit. He had.
“Yes.”
“That was rhetorical.” And fuck my life. I used to be a goddamn asset. Now I was an employee . “Let me guess, you also listen to police scanners and radio traffic in your spare time.” I turned the engine over.
“No. I have a software program for that. It tracks keywords and ten-signals for any locations where we have operatives in the field.”
I watched, but no lights came on inside the house. “Good to fucking know.” Nothing about this was good.
“You’re parked on the street where the shooting occurred.”
Monotone motherfucker stated it like this entire conversation was normal and not fifty fucking levels past the invasion of privacy I signed up for when I became property of the United States Navy. “Don’t need every step I take monitored.” I pulled away from the curb.
“Copy. Is there anything from the incident I need to handle?”
“It was a fucking drive-by, not an incident, and like I said, don’t need a babysitter. I’ll let you know if I need something.” Halfway down the street, I turned on my headlights.
“I operate more proactively, but message received. Did you speak to the local authorities?”
“Not fucking new.” I checked the rearview mirror. Still no lights on in the house.
“That’s a no?”
Jesus. “Affirmative.” I turned off the street and stepped on the gas.
“What about your rental?”
As if on cue, wind whistled through the fucking bullet holes in the rear panel. “What about it?”
“Any damage?”
For two seconds, I drove and thought about the brunette. Not her coming all over my cock, the sounds she made, those giant tits, or that perfect ass.
Just her.
She’d looked fucking broken. More so once she’d passed out.
I knew I was an asshole. Always had been, never claimed different.
But walking out on a woman I’d fucked without acknowledging her first was a new one on me.
“Blade?”
“Yeah.” I could’ve woken her before I’d wiped her cell. Fucked her again. Not for intel. Just to fuck. But she looked like she’d needed the sleep.
“The rental?”
“Damaged.” Like the brunette. “Took fire in the drive-by.” Sucking in a lungful of sex and hot crazy chick, I exhaled, then locked that shit down and focused up. “It was rented under my personal ID and credit card. I’ll dump it, torch it, and report it stolen. Can you run two cell numbers?”
“No need, and yes. First, I’m sending an address to your rental’s GPS. Leave the damaged vehicle there and switch to the waiting Range Rover. Your personal ID and credit card have already been swapped out in the rental company’s database with an alias. The security footage of you picking up the vehicle is scrubbed. What are the cell phone numbers?” The ever-present background noise of typing I heard each time I’d talked to him paused as the Tahoe’s GPS populated with an address northwest of my location.
I recited the numbers.
The typing resumed. “Hold.”
“Copy.” The AES cell that was still sitting in the center console, where Alpha had left it, lit up with a new text.
I glanced at the screen.
Alpha: Had a job come up. Can you be in NY by seventeen hundred tomorrow?
Christ. “Alpha texted.” There went the remainder of my thirty-six hours.
“I know.” November kept typing. “He had me make arrangements.”
“Before asking me?”
“He assumed.”
“That I’d be at his beck and call?” What the fuck? I didn’t go civilian so I could become Alpha’s lackey.
“No. That you’d prefer no downtime.”
The comment hit like a fucking IED, and I wanted to punch Alpha in his pretty-boy face. I also wanted to hate the motherfucker, but he was right. I didn’t want any goddamn downtime, and I sure as fuck didn’t want to transition out of Team Ops any more than I wanted to be a civilian.
“Never out of the fight,” I muttered, already feeling like a fucking fish out of water.
November ignored my comment. “The trace came back on those two numbers.”
“And?”
“Two burners, purchased this afternoon from a cell phone store near the bar you were parked in front of.”
Another fucking sign that I should’ve paid attention to that leggy blonde instead of my cock. I’d never made these kinds of bullshit rookie mistakes downrange. “Can you get any security cam footage on that store from this afternoon?” Not that I’d know who the hell I was looking at if it was Church’s woman.
“Hold.”
I ran down the texts I’d read on the brunette’s cell. None of them mentioned a name, occupation, wedding, or anything else I could tie to Church or his woman.
“There were no security cameras inside the store, only at the front entrance and rear exit. Are you looking for anything specific?”
“A blonde and a brunette.” I had less than zero expectation of seeing Church on any security footage, but I added his description to the mix. “Or a six-two blond male with ink, full sleeves.”
“Copy. Searching. What should I relay to Alpha regarding New York? I can have an AES Gulfstream on the ground at Miami Executive Airport by fourteen hundred tomorrow.”
I glanced at the clock on the dash. “Who’d be piloting?”
“Zulu.”
“Those jets fly with one pilot?” Accounting for traffic, a shower, and some food, fourteen hundred tomorrow would give me twelve hours of sleep. More than I’d had in the past four days combined.
“I’d be second chair.”
“You fly a lot for someone who’s supposed to be overwatch.”
“I go where Alpha needs me. The security cams from the store don’t have anyone at the time of the sale for those two numbers.”
I turned into an industrial area with single-story warehouses. “Someone wiped it?”
“Or the cameras were offline. I have another priority one coming in. I’ll check it later. Executive Airport tomorrow at fourteen hundred. Tonight, you’re booked into the W. The front desk has a key card waiting. Tell them you’re with AES. Tomorrow, leave the Range Rover on the apron next to the Gulfstream.” He gave me the jet’s tail number. “Anything else?”
Yeah. I fucking hated being handled. “Don’t bother checking the security cams at that store.” Accidental, coincidental, purposeful—it didn’t fucking matter. No footage was no footage.
“Copy.”
I thought about the brunette passed out in the house. “One last thing.” I rattled off the address of the pink bungalow. “Can you run a property search on that address?”
No typing, no reply, November hesitated a beat. “Were you inside the residence?”
Cataloging both his pause and the fact that he already knew it was a residence, I shelved the intel for later and admitted the truth. “Yeah.”
The background noise of typing resumed. “I’ll send a sweep team. Running the property search now.”
“It’s occupied.”
“They’ll wait until it’s unoccupied, then wipe all prints. Anything else I need to be aware of?”
“It’s not a fucking crime scene.” It was. If you counted that brunette’s tight, wrecked cunt.
“It’s a residence on the street where you were when an incident occurred. All incoming AES employees start with a blank slate, but Alpha told me that you specifically requested to have your movements untraceable.”
Silently cursing myself, I exhaled for patience. “Property search?”
“Flipped three times in the past year. All contractors or construction holding firms with multiple properties in the greater Miami area.”
Fuck. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Three times in twelve months sounds excessive.”
“Permits were pulled for foundation and roof repairs. It’s not uncommon for a problematic property in a high-crime area to have turnover. Text if you need anything else.” The hacker hung up.
Silently cursing Church for the countless time, I double-checked the address on the GPS as I drove up to the only warehouse in the area with an open bay door.
As promised, there was a Range Rover parked inside.
I pulled up next to it, but there wasn’t a single fucking person in sight, and I knew how to spot that shit.
Scanning the dark warehouse, running down the intel November had just given me, I grabbed my go bag, palmed my Sig, and got out of the rental.
No one shot at me, and no one came out of the shadows.
I tried the door on the Rover.
Unlocked. Key fob on the dash.
I got behind the wheel.
Thirty minutes later, after telling myself the house and the blonde were a dead end, I was showered, naked, and flat out on a bed in the most expensive hotel suite I’d ever stepped foot in.
Not that I gave a fuck.
I was asleep in sixty seconds.