Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Her skin is like silk. The newest reason that I’m totally screwed.
Mission control we have a problem. I am way out of bounds for so many reasons. Clearly, Marianna is running in a rich crowd. I make damn good money, but I’m never going to have gold-gilded anything.
On top of that, I’m in the middle of a mission. My head needs to be in the game, our client’s missing daughter deserves that from me.
But hell if I can resist touching the most alluring woman I’ve ever met.
My fingertips are buzzing as Marianna watches me touch her.
Slowly, I let my hand glide up her shoulder, across the thin strap of her dress, to the warmth of her neck.
“I’ve wanted to touch you here all day.”
Her exhale is the softest whisper.
I unfurl my fingers along her nape. The heavy weight of her hair presses against the back of my hand. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love your hair. And this pretty neck is begging for my teeth.”
A tiny moan parts her lips as her eyes drift closed. The tremor that runs through her almost makes me groan. I lean in and press my nose against her temple, inhaling that sweet warm scent I’ve been thinking about since this morning.
“I can’t stop myself from kissing you right now.”
Her hand is suddenly on my thigh. The tips of her fingers contracting against the fabric of my trousers.
When I tip her face toward me by grasping her chin, her lips part.
I’m a goner.
A wild recklessness pulses through me. I’m hard as a rock when our mouths come together in a searing crash.
Her hand flexes on my thigh, as she opens her mouth to me, inviting me in with a throaty sound.
Fuck. Yes. Sweet, hot. Perfect.
Every slide of my tongue makes her lean into me harder. Causes her fingers to bite more. The air around us is heavy and pulsing with our need.
She’s panting, her gaze wild, when she pulls back. For a long beat she stares at me, until she speaks in a throaty whisper. “What are we doing?”
I lick my lips, and hold her face in my palms. There’s a heavy drum beat inside my chest and my trousers are cutting off my damned circulation. “Steaming up the windows.”
She laughs, but doesn’t move to get away from me. Instead, she plants her palms against my chest and fists my shirt. “Why are you stopping?”
“I need to know you’re okay with this.”
Golden-brown eyes dancing, she jerks me forward. “I might be crazy. But I haven’t been this okay in forever.”
“Then I’m not stopping.” I lean down, holding her nape in one hand, and devour her again—fuck the heat of her mouth with my tongue as her fingertips bite into my pecs.
When I can’t take it anymore, I drag her onto my lap. I’m breathing raggedly, all my blood is rushing out of one head, heading for the other. “I should stop.”
She licks her lips and whispers hotly, “I should go home.”
But neither of us pull apart again until a massive BOOM makes Marianna scream.
“On the floor!” I shove her down into the footwell behind the front seats.
The driver leaps into the car and slams the door.
Angling my body so I’m covering hers, I search for the source of the ground-shaking explosion. “What’s happening?”
Before I’ve even finished my question, the engine roars to life and he throws the car in reverse.
“There was bomb under car.”
A Russian accent? But that’s not my priority right now.
A car bomb trumps all else. “Fucking hell.”
He guns the engine, swerves backwards and spins the car around before taking off.
Marianna’s gasping on the floorboard, curled into a tight ball. “Is anyone hurt?”
He scans the mirrors before focusing ahead. “No.”
A rush of blood fills my ears as we speed out of the estate, the car swaying wildly. Tires skidding on the asphalt driveway. Marianna’s skin is damp and feverish below the hand I’m using to pin her to the floor.
All of my training kicks into place. Calm takes over. My mind starts to work the pieces. “Whose car was blown?”
“Mr. Strickler’s.”
“Sylvester’s car!” Marianna shrieks. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” the man snaps without looking back.
My muscles tighten. I curse a blue streak silently. A bomb was bad enough, but on Sylvester’s car— this is fucked.
Marianna’s coming to the same conclusion I am. Her voice is thready as she shudders. “Oh my god. That’s terrible.”
The Russian grunts.
I jerk off my coat, the heavy fabric suddenly suffocating now. My voice gets tight as a whole new set of realities play out in my racing mind. “Have the other cars been checked?”
“My coworkers are doing that now.”
Cold dread surges inside me. “What about this one—has it been in a secure location?”
“I’ve been with it all day. It was locked up last night. I’m responsible for this vehicle. No one puts bomb on my car.”
A breath hisses out of me. “You sure?”
He glares at me in the mirror.
I nod, once. “Get her home.”
Once we hit the main road, I carefully pull Marianna up. Her delicate shoulders feel so small in my hands, reminding me that I was too rough with her when I shoved her down. “Come here, sweetheart, let’s get you buckled in.”
Her hair is tangled around her face, the strap of her dress is broken. That’s bad, but the fear in her eyes makes me furious.
Once she’s settled on the seat next to me and buckled in, I run my hands over her arms, down her hips and her legs, checking for any sign of injury. “Did I hurt you?”
“No." She shakes her head as she repeatedly tries to pull the broken strap of her dress back up. She gives up after the third try. "I’m just rattled.”
I tighten my grip on her, pulling her delicate body against me. Stomach pretzeling, I brush her hair back, fighting to keep my hand steady. “That was a helluva explosion. I’m sorry if I scared you, but I wanted you safe.”
“Nothing left of car. Big bomb,” the driver grumbles as he takes a turn too fast causing Marianna to bump against me.
The car continues to hurtle into the darkening night. Winding through the rainforest at speeds that probably break every law in the country. Not that the cops are around…
The silence inside intensifies, feeding the growing sense of unease in my stomach.
She’s safe. I have to remind myself.
The guy in the driver’s seat seems to know what he’s doing. I’m here.
But I have to force myself to breathe and focus on facts. “What’s your name, man?”
“Vik.” His reply is quick, one clipped word, and doesn’t affect his attention on the road.
“Thanks for getting us the hell out of there. I’m…Ev—Walt.”
Goddamn.
My skin starts buzzing like bees are coating my body. Holy shit. I almost told him my real name. I’ve never made a mistake like that.
I clear my throat and try to keep the conversation going even though I’m flipping out. “Are the mayor’s parties always like this?”
One of his herculean shoulders lifts indifferently. “Sometimes.”
Karma is proving to be a can of worms.
“Does Sylvester attract trouble?”
His attention flicks to me in the mirror. But he doesn’t need to say anything. I know the answer from the tightening of his brow.
This op is getting more complicated by the minute. Turning into a protective monster is exactly the last thing that should be happening. Unfortunately, that's exactly what’s going down.
Marianna’s silent next to me. She’s showing signs of shock. Every little bump in the road makes her flinch. Her skin is pale. Her breathing fast. It’s easy to see her mind is whirling.
Fuck. Mine is too. She could have been killed.
I don’t think she would have gotten in his car given how their interaction was, but again, I don’t know the lay of the land between them.
But if she had...
A cold knife pierces my stomach. Hell. I can’t even think about that.
Tightening my arm on her, I force the emotions behind the steel door I use to compartmentalize ugly shit. But the bleed-through is real. I’m worried for her, too many things happened tonight that point to trouble.
I force a breath. Look out the window. Work to get my mind right like I was taught in the Teams. The sky has darkened to ink, cocooning us inside the safe space of the vehicle. But I can’t shake the unease.
Ten minutes later the man turns off the road onto a gravel lane. Fields stretch out on both sides of us. Rows of spiky plants funnel outward into the darkness.
Marianna mentioned a tractor. The truck she was driving earlier was covered in dust and remnants of mud hugged the fender wells, like a work truck. “I’m gathering you live on a farm.”
She nods as she watches the fields pass by the window. Worrying at the strap on her purse, Marianna turns to look at me. “What about your vehicle?”
“I’ll circle back with Vik and see if I can help.”
Her hands tighten in her lap, crushing her bag. “Help do what?”
“I’m a demolition’s expert. I might be able to help identify what was used for the bomb, and in turn help them figure out how and when it got there.”
She glances down my body, her gaze bouncing along my arms, my chest and my thighs in a quick appraisal. “What are you exactly?”
“I was in the military.”
She makes a little sound. “I gathered that from your look. There’s also something about the way you move.”
I ask a question that’s been burning my tongue. “What does Sylvester do?”
She brushes her hair back with a pale, trembling hand. “I don’t know all of it, but he told me he exports artifacts and stone used for countertops. He imports other goods. Just from the way he acted, I don’t think his business is totally legal or legitimate. I try to stay as far away from him as I can.”
Artifacts.
Illegal trade.
Jesus. He could be related to the missing archeologist that Agile is trying to find.
“He looks like trouble, and I’m not sure what kind yet. Call me paranoid, but that’s just what my gut says.”
Marianna pulls back and gives me an assessing look. “I’m curious. Why did you accept an invite to the party?”
“Aren’t the places where there’s trouble the most interesting?”
Giving a quick shake of her head, she rubs at her brow. “I’m over trouble. D.O.N.E. These last few months have been hell.”
I wish I had the power to erase it all, but this is not surprising, given what I’ve seen in the span of less than fourteen hours.
What I say next sounds lame, but I don’t know how to comfort her about the past. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m not sure what’s going on, but if you need my help, you’ve got it.”
Once again, I catch the driver’s eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
How does Vik play into this puzzle? All my instincts say this man is not just a chauffeur.
The way he moves, the way he watches…
Something much bigger is going on behind his stony fa?ade. But what?
I stare out the window as the car climbs a hill. The sky fades to black, much like my mood.
When we stop, we’re in front of a low-slung rancher with terracotta roofing tiles. The Land Cruiser, AKA Gingersnap, is parked to one side. There are no other vehicles in sight.
Marianna reaches for her door handle, but I grab her wrist gently and pull her back. “Hold on, I’m coming around to open your door. I’ll feel better if you stick close to me.”
When I hustle around the car, Marianna accepts my hand, climbs out and straightens her dress. “It’s safe here. You don’t have to?—”
“Humor me, please.”
The strap I broke on her dress is dangling from her shoulder. It pisses me right off that I caused that. “I’m sorry I damaged your dress.”
She gives me a look. “I’d rather have my head than the dress. You were just trying to protect me.”
“I’ll buy you another.”
After making a scoffing sound, she motions for me to move out. But I’m not happy, I’m even more concerned. The faint sliver of the moon above is the only light illuminating our path. “Darlin’, are you out here all alone?”
“There is a man on the property, my farm manager. He lives in one of the eight cabinas that are on the eastern edge of the farm.”
“It’s too dark here, you need more lighting.”
When she doesn’t answer, I ask, “Who does your maintenance?”
She cuts me a look, but the shadows hide her eyes. “Please, not tonight. Some other time. I’m all talked out right now.”
As she reaches for the door, minus a key, I step in front of her. “You didn’t lock up.”
“This is the middle of nowhere. I don’t need to.”
Scowling, I block her from opening the door. “This is dangerous, Marianna. At least let me sweep the house.”
“Whatever. The broom is in the hall closet.”
I chuckle. “Last time I checked, I didn’t need a broom to clear the house.”
She follows me inside even though I tell her not to, and tosses her purse on the entrance table. The urge to drag her back to the car and make her wait with the driver has my hands twitching, but she waves me off. “Have at it, whatever it is you’re doing. I’ll be sitting on the couch. I’m too frazzled to care.”
Her exhaustion bothers me on a primal level. I want to take care of her. Tuck her in. Make sure she rests.
Stumbling tired, she moves to a large leather sofa and collapses.
Unable to set aside my protective instinct, I search the sprawling ranch home. Without the broom.
Instead, with my pistol drawn.
Room by room, closet by closet, I check her space, until I’m satisfied she’s safe.
The only things of interest is a closet full of men’s clothing that looks twenty years old and a house that was furnished decades ago. Otherwise, there are no signs a man lives here. No extra toothbrush. No shoes by the back door. No men’s clothes in the laundry room.
Yeah. I looked.
I’m relieved. I’m also even more protective. There’s no one here looking out for her.
Especially when I return to the living room and Marianna’s out. She’s curled up in a little knot. The sight makes me lock up.
What is that feeling in my chest? My skin is hot and cold at the same time.
It drives me crazy that she’s so small and alone on this farm.
Hands under her cheek, knees drawn up, hair fanned over the leather sofa’s arm, she looks like an exhausted angel.
I rip my feet off the floor and step closer.
A foreign sensation slides up from my lungs and takes root in my throat.
Fuck, can I just leave her here alone?