TWELVE
T he minute they walked through the door of the hotel room, May made a beeline to her bag. She hauled out the computer and dropped into a seat at the small table, fingers flying over the attached keyboard almost before the door clicked shut.
Henner eyed her. “You’re not wasting any time.”
She pulled up a search engine and began typing furiously. Databases and websites popped up in different tabs.
“May.”
All of her concentration centered on the screen.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?”
She gave a small shake of her head. The straight ends of her dark hair swayed over her rod-straight spine. “I have too many questions I need answers to.”
He twisted the deadbolt and added the chain lock before wandering over to her. “May, this is important.”
“So is this.” She tapped away at the keys. The sound reminded him of the tap tap tap of her fingernail.
Leaning in, he skimmed over the website she had in front of her. A painting filled the screen, and she hovered over the artist’s signature in the corner, small and illegible to him. But she had a degree in art history. She must be searching for something she noticed back at Simpson’s house.
Henner had more concerns than a silly painting right now. When he leaned in to inspect one of the sculptures, he’d found a bug already planted there—by someone else.
“May, I planted those bugs.”
“I know.”
“And I found some too.”
Her fingers stilled on the keys. Slowly, she turned her head to gape at him. “Someone else bugged his house?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I was going to plant a bug in one of the curves of that chain sculpture and there was already one there.”
He was prepared for her denial. Up to this point, she had defended Simpson. But the evidence was glaring—someone with a house filled with listening devices couldn’t be clean.
“What comes next?” May asked.
“I need to talk to Con. We need to find out who’s listening.”
Her expression gave away little as she turned back to her research—whatever that entailed.
Henner started pacing as he pulled out his phone. Con didn’t answer, but another familiar voice filled his ear.
“Cobra. What are you doing answering Con’s phone?”
“He’s in with Barrett right now. He told me to man his phone. Thought you might call.”
Henner pictured one of his best friends and fellow teammates on Charlie team. He and Julian Chase, aka Cobra, had been fighting together for the past three years. During that time, they’d saved each other’s asses at least twice. The guys liked to joke that they were easy to get confused—because they both had an attitude problem.
He could also hear the gruffness in Chase’s tone. Of all the tough badasses on Charlie, Chase was the one motherfucker none of them wanted to cross. He grew up on the streets, fighting for food and places to sleep.
Some of the guys liked to say that Henner and Chase got along so well because one was all seriousness and the other tried to pretend he wasn’t.
Henner compressed his lips. “I have something important for Con, but maybe you’re the better man to talk to.”
“I’m listening.”
In the background came the faint strains of jazz music. Only one guy on the Charlie team listened to jazz.
“Does Steele have KP tonight?”
“Yeah. He claims that he’s cooking Italian but it smells like sewer.”
Despite the tension that Henner had felt since the moment he discovered those bugs planted all over Simpson’s home, he laughed. At the sound, May stopped typing again. He studied her profile for a moment, then continued.
“Cobra, you know everything there is to know about comms.”
“Is this about the bugs?”
“I’m not surprised Con filled in the team. I planted ours, but I found a few already there.”
“What kind of tech?”
“Nothing you can get your hands on easily.”
Again May twisted her head Henner’s direction, listening to every word even as she combed the internet for whatever she was searching for.
“Short-range or long?” Cobra’s question cut through the fog in Henner’s mind. Ever since he found those bugs, he had been so fucking on edge. Whoever was listening to Simpson had heard them too. The idea of May slipping and saying something to paint a target on their back tied Henner in knots.
“Long.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
Henner curled his free hand into a fist. “The real problem is the tech being used.”
“You recognized it?” Chase’s tone sharpened like a blade.
“Yeah. It’s not military-grade, but I’ve seen them before. The kind of bugs linked to—”
“The government,” Chase finished for him.
“You got it.”
May was staring at him. “Linked to who?”
“Past CIA operations,” he answered her and confirmed what Cobra probably already knew.
“This changes everything, Chickie. We’re talking shadow games.”
“And someone with deep government connections. We need a deep dive on Simpson. We need to know everything he’s done in his career and anything shady in his past.” He met May’s stare. “Find out what happened to his wife too.”
“On it, Chickie.”
May pushed away from the table and stood, one hand planted on the edge as though to steady herself.
“What is it, May?”
“We have bigger concerns about Simpson. All those works of art in his home…they aren’t forgeries. They’re real . Some are worth way more than his salary in a year.”
Without shifting his focus from her face, he spoke to Chase. “Dig into his finances too.”
“Copy that, Chickie. I’ll start now. Maybe I’ll get so engrossed that I’m late to Steele’s dinner.”
He issued a low chuckle. “Good idea. Talk later.”
As soon as he ended the call, he crossed the room to May. What he saw in her face made him reach out to touch her.
“You’re shaking.” Protective instincts jabbed him square in the chest and uppercut him in the jaw at the same time. He pulled her into his arms and held her against him, trying to absorb her tremors.
“All that art and the sculptures too…”
Over her head, he had a clear view of the computer screen. That sculpture in the alcove in Simpson’s kitchen was front and center.
“Jesus Christ,” Henner bit off. “He has that thing just sitting around in his kitchen ?”
“I know! I thought it could be a replica. Something he picked up from a street artist. But it’s not. It’s an Impressionist piece, thought to be lost!” She shook her head, rubbing her cheek against his chest and sending bolts of heat to his own heart.
He smoothed his palm over the back of her head, over her silky hair, and down her spine. “This changes things.”
She tilted her head to meet his gaze. “Do you think Simpson has ties to the CIA?”
“Not necessarily. Whoever planted those bugs might. If we can figure out who’s listening, we can find out why. May, you’re certain that art is authentic?”
She nodded and huffed a low sigh. “I know art.”
“You were an art historian.”
“Yes.”
“How did you make the leap to explosives?”
“I went into the family business,” she said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Maybe in her family, it was. For all he knew, her uncles moonlighted as circus performers and car mechanics and her brother had a philosophy degree.
He didn’t crack any of the jokes spinning through his mind. There was too much at stake here to find much humor.
Worst of all, May had close ties to Major General Simpson. And thanks to their visit, whoever was watching him knew that too.
“I have to keep searching.” She made a move to leave his arms, but Henner tightened his grip on her as the weight of his fresh realization sank deep into his chest. This wasn’t just about dirty money or Simpson’s ties to the wrong people. May was entangled in this.
Before, this was just any other op. Now, to Henner, it had become personal.
She had no clue how much danger she was in. And he wasn’t about to let her find out the hard way. No matter what it took, he would keep her safe.
He’d protect her from any threat she didn’t even see coming.
* * * * *
The muffled rush of water from the shower filtered through the closed bathroom door into the hotel room. A dim glow from the single lamp May switched on mixed with the light from the computer screen.
Thinking of AJ mere steps away from her in the shower, naked with water gushing over his steely body, faded away in the face of what she uncovered in her research.
She gulped, feeling the swallow move all the way down her tight throat. Her pulse stayed steady…
Until it wasn’t.
One finger hovered over the trackpad. She stared at the words until they blurred in and out of focus.
Divorce records. Sealed but not untouchable.
She’d gotten this far. Explosives weren’t the only things she knew.
The noise of water spraying onto the shower wall made her jump. Her shoulders squared as she took the leap and clicked on that file.
Hunching forward, she skimmed the contents. Major General Simpson’s ex-wife walked away with a settlement, which wasn’t available in public records.
Then she just…vanished. It wasn’t unusual in military divorces. The parties involved preferred to stay close-lipped about the situation, especially when it concerned a high-profile military partner.
In keeping things under wraps, his ex-wife had totally wiped herself from all public records. She didn’t give any statements about the matter. She left no trace.
Something was off. This was too clean…too controlled.
May’s skin crawled with a serpent of dread. She was fond of Simpson, had many good memories of the man’s visits including how he always gave her the same respect that her family gave her. In her eyes, that was huge. A woman in her line of work was often scoffed at, her expertise brushed aside in favor of a man’s opinion.
Her stomach twisted as she searched all social media websites for any sign of Simpson’s ex.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “Absolutely nothing.”
The woman had wiped herself off the face of the earth, it seemed. But there had to be a paper trail—an address, contact information. They shared children, but after searching for several more minutes, she could find no evidence of them either.
The shower switched off, and she heard the curtain slide across on the rail. All too easily she pictured her gorgeous lover standing naked, water streaming off his totally lick-able skin.
A minute later, the door cracked, and steam wisped through the opening, smelling of fresh, clean soap.
She sat back in her stiff-backed chair, pressing her fingertips into her temple again. The headache she’d feigned earlier had manifested with all the karma possible, sending a dull ache through her entire skull.
“May?” AJ’s tone rasped across her senses.
She pivoted in the seat to find him in the doorway, a towel in his hands. His wet hair was in total disarray. He was bare-chested, and barefooted. In between he wore black boxer briefs with a single camo green star in the bottom corner of one muscled thigh.
Her insides gripped at the sight of him. The man who drove her crazy both in and out of the bedroom.
When she learned the terrible truth about Simpson, the only thought in her mind was to turn to AJ for comfort.
Her heart wobbled as she realized the truth…about her growing feelings for her partner.
He tossed the towel on the floor and in a few strides closed the gap between them. He touched her shoulder. “May, you’re pale. Is everything all right?”
She nodded. “Just a little headache.”
Which was going to be heartache when she walked away from him.
AJ was Blackout. A dead man walking. That meant he couldn’t have anyone in his life. No wife, no significant other or long-term girlfriend. And certainly not a family.
Her heart plummeted, and her eyes blurred again as she fixed her attention on the computer screen.
But she’d seen the remnants of a party to welcome a baby in to the Blackout family. Maybe all hope wasn’t lost.
Behind her, she heard AJ rummaging through bags.
“Found it!”
“What did you find?”
“The condoms.”
She whirled and saw he had a small bottle of painkillers in hand and a wide grin stretching over his handsome face, reaching up to crease his sparkling eyes.
An unexpected giggle burst out of her at being taken by his prank.
What he saw on her face made the intensity of his grin fade. He walked over to the mini fridge and grabbed a bottled water. Carrying that and the pills over to the table, he set the water beside her.
“Hold out your hand.”
She did with all the trust in the world. He uncapped the container and shook two pills into her hand.
As he replaced the cap, he kept his gaze fixed on her, unshifting. “Talk to me, May.” He propped one hard plane of his backside on the table, leg dangling. The one supporting him rippled with muscle.
She swallowed the pills with a sip of water. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Of course. Tell me what’s really bothering you.”
She blinked up at him, hoping he couldn’t see the emotions churning through her.
The fact that I can’t pursue a relationship with you…and it’s the only thing I want in this entire world.
She focused on the screen again. “Something is very off with Simpson’s divorce.”
“How so?”
“His ex-wife has basically vanished from public records.”
He slipped off the table and drew the extra chair up beside her. “Mind if I poke around?”
She waved a hand to give him access, and he took over the search. She watched his every move, hyperaware of his solid presence and how he made her feel.
Safe.
Cared for.
Cherished, even.
His long fingers worked over the keys with precision, and his brow creased in concentration. The man gave everything his all, from the smallest task of drying his wet hair, to the bedroom…to missions.
He paused. “What the hell?”
She swung her attention from AJ to the screen. Leaning in, her arm brushed his. “Wait a damn minute. He’s paying how much in alimony?”
AJ issued a low whistle. “He should be sleeping on an air mattress. There wouldn’t be anything left in his bank account—not on a high-ranking officer’s salary.”
The truth was right in front of her. Heavy and undeniable.
“Simpson is on the take.” Even spoken in her own voice, the words sounded foreign.
AJ held her stare for several heartbeats. “I’m sorry, May.”
“I wanted to be wrong.”
“It happens to all of us at some point.”
“Has it happened to you?” She shook her head. “I don’t want to know that answer. But now I see what you meant about me being smart but not seeing obvious things. I should have seen this.”
“The guy is a friend of your father’s. It’s difficult to mesh what you know about the man with what you’re seeing on a screen.”
“And in his home…and what he’s hiding in that hangar on base.”
How could Simpson drift so far from the guy she remembered?
The answer was simple: money.
Her lip wobbled, and she bit down on it.
“Oh, darlin’. Come here.” He didn’t wait for her consent, just plucked her off the chair into his lap.
The hard planes of his thighs underneath her were the most solid ground she had left underneath her. He smelled fresh and clean and masculine.
And she wanted him badly…even if she couldn’t keep him.
She slipped her arms around his neck and tipped her face up for a kiss.
“Christ, May. You’re so goddamn beautiful, it breaks my heart.” His stare roamed over her face as he directed a lock of hair behind her ear.
Why did that sound like the end to her? Did he feel the finish line of their time together drawing near too and know that things could go no further?
She leaned in and brushed her lips over his in a gentle caress that sent shivers through her body. He didn’t move at first, as frozen as one of those sculptures they’d seen earlier that night.
With a gasp, AJ came alive. Jerking her against him, he slammed his mouth over hers and tunneled his tongue inside.
Claiming her…maybe for the last time.