Badass: Deadly Target (Complete): Military Romantic Suspense (7 page)

“What’s happening to me? Why is it happening? I woke up this morning, and it was just a normal day, you know? I got out of bed and had breakfast and fed Libby and watered my plants. Bradley Cooper was on Good Morning America, and he was talking about a new movie he was going to be in, and I texted one of my girlfriends to tell her we should go see it. I stopped at Starbucks for coffee on the way to the office and planned to go to the gym after work. My book club meets tonight.”

I try to stop my rambling as his cool blue eyes assess me. “Who’s Libby?”

“My cat.” Oh. My. God. “My cat! Who’s going to feed my cat? She’ll starve or die of dehydration. Oh no, she’ll poop on my bed because she hates to use the litter box if it’s dirty. I have to scoop it twice a day or otherwise—”

He shakes me. My teeth chatter together, and my ribs scream at the jolt. I punch him in the gut and am satisfied when he exhales a little whoosh, even as my hand goes numb. It feels like I hit a brick wall.

He rubs his stomach. “Simmer down.”

Oh. That pisses me off. “Simmer down? Did you just tell me to simmer down?”

He exhales loudly. “Holy fuck, woman. Are you crazy? We’re on the run from unknown forces, and you’re going nuts about a cat and a few word choices?”

I stomp my foot. “She’s fourteen years old. I’ve had her since I was twelve. My mom…”

Gave her to me for my twelfth birthday.

The words spin around my brain, then die. Just like her. Just like I’m going to. Just like Libby will if I can’t get back to her.

All because of this stupid box.

Fury ignites in me. Spinning around, I pick up that metal case and toss it against the wall. It makes a wonderfully loud clanging nose against the cinder blocks and an even more satisfying one when it clatters to the concrete. I pull my leg back to kick it but am pulled away before I can.

I’m hugged from behind, pressed up against his hard body, one arm just under my breasts, the other over my arms and chest. His breath is warm in my hair as he shushes me, telling me, “It will all be alright.”

I lift my foot to slam my heel into his instep but end up turning around instead. Pressing my face into his chest, I inhale deeply, the scent of his sweat mingling with the citrus and sandalwood from before. I gasp as his arms close around me tighter, jolting my ribs, but don’t ask him to stop. It’s safe here. So very safe. I’ve never felt as safe as right here, right now.

“I’m sorry this is happening to you,” he murmurs, and I can feel the movement of his lips against my scalp. I shiver, and he pulls me even tighter, running a hand up and down my spine.

“I still can’t believe it. I keep expecting to wake up any minute now. But I know I won’t because this is real and I know my life will never be the same.”

“Life turns on a dime,” he says quietly. “Believe me, I’ve been there. As a Ranger, you get used to random shit happening and turning everything upside down. All of a sudden you have to learn an entirely new set of rules while you’re throwing out everything you lived by just minutes earlier. I get it.”

I tell myself not to let him get into my head, but I don’t know what else to do. I have no one but him. It’s not as if I can call one of my friends and have them pick me up here. Besides, I can’t put them in that sort of danger. They wouldn’t know what to do, anyway. It’s just me. And this man.

“We need to find a better place to hide than this,” he says, his hands now moving up and down my arms, warming them. “We’re sitting ducks right here. Let’s find a better spot, then I need to make a call.”

I nod and step back, missing his warmth immediately. My teeth begin to chatter, and he moves around me, picking his jacket up from the floor. “Here, wear this,” he says as he holds it for me to slip into, his scent wrapping around me like a blanket. “Wait a second.” Facing me again, he rolls up the sleeves until my hands are showing.

“Thank you.”

He pushes my hair behind my ear. “You’re welcome. It’s chilly in here, but I also think you’re in shock. It’ll take a little time to wear off, but you’ll be okay.”

He peers closely at my face, in the dim light filtering through the dirty windows. “Your lip is bleeding again.” He reaches up to my mouth, his thumb wiping the blood away, his fingers a soft caress on my cheek.

I lick my lip and feel the cut I’d gotten when the huge man slammed me against the wall. Jax stiffens, and I look up at him. His eyes are locked on my mouth. Slowly, I withdraw my tongue and look away before I hurl myself at him.

He turns and picks the bank box and my bag up off the floor. I want to protest, insist that I’ll carry them. But he reaches out his hand, wanting to gather me to him too. Very slowly I take it, my fingers linking in his. Seconds later, he’s pulling me behind him up a set of clanking metal steps.

On the upper floor, Jax leads me into a small room, looks out the window and shakes his head. He leads me to another one and does the same thing.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I noticed a fire escape outside.” He leads me to a third room and looks out. “Yes, here it is. We’ll hunker down here. At least it gives us a couple of escape options if needed.”

I look up at him. “Do you think we’ll need them?”

He studies my face. “We’ll think of the best and plan for the worst. I’m a ‘safer than sorry’ kind of guy.” He then gives me an apologetic look. “I need to frisk you,” he tells me and lifts up a hand when I begin to protest. “If I’m going to protect you, it means turning my back on you at times. I won’t do that unless I’m sure you aren’t carrying.”

I stare at him, knowing what he’s saying makes sense. “Well, do I get to frisk you right back?”

He smirks, that damn dimple popping with the lift of that side of his mouth. “Sweetheart, I’ll straight out tell you I’m carrying. I’m in possession of two guns at the moment and there’s a knife in my sock.” He reaches behind him and pulls out a gun from his waist, then bends and pulls another one from an ankle holster, then a knife from a sheath. Holding the weapons out to his sides, he lifts his arms. “But if it makes you feel better, have at it.”

Oh, that twisty thing twists lower in my stomach now, spiraling between my legs. I’m not entirely sure, but I think my clitoris spasms and I have to force myself not to squirm. I lift my chin and step forward, patting him down his sides like I’ve seen done on my favorite crime shows.

Holy muscle. I can feel the ripple of it under my fingers as I touch his front and his back. When I bend to pat down the sides of his legs, I’m face to face with his zipper. I groan and focus my attention back on his legs, patting up his left one until I’m at the crotch. Damn. He’s carrying alright. The outline of his weapon visible now, snaking down his leg. And it’s growing.

Jumping back to my feet, I practically shout, “You’re clean.”

The smirk is back, but he doesn’t even try to hide his obvious erection. Instead, he tucks the other weapons back into place. “Face the wall, legs spread,” he says.

I swallow and do as I’m told. My eyes roll back in my head as his large hands begin the pat down just below my arm pits, his fingertips barely brushing my breasts. Down they go, past my waist, down my hips, down the outsides of both legs. There, they encircle my left ankle and move up that leg. Up past my calf, my knee, moving up my thigh. I fight not to groan as he gets just centimeters from my center and … switches legs, patting down to my ankle.

Blowing out a silent breath, I turn to him. “Satisfied?”

He’s so close that I back up a step, until my back presses against the wall. His eyes travel from my eyes, to my hair, then to my lips, lingering there. He meets my eyes again. “Not even close.”

I’m not sure how many seconds pass before he steps back and turns toward the window, moving to its side and peeking out. In one corner of the room is a wedge of sunlight. I walk in its direction and sink to the floor. A month from now, Northern California will be warmer, but March days are cool, the nights downright cold.

I watch him stand vigil at the window, trading places with the door every few minutes to look out, then walking back. No, not walk. Swagger. Yes, swagger is a good word. Not the bowlegged John Wayne cowboy swagger, but a walk that says he’s confident in his skin. Purposeful. His thighs spread apart, not touching with each stride.

Are his balls that big? I wonder and then drop my face in my hands.

“You okay?” he asks and crouches in front of me. He presses his hand to my forehead. “You’re flushed, but don’t feel warm.”

Oh, I’m just thinking about your testicles and how they’d feel slapping my ass while you thrust what is probably a great big penis in and out of me.

And, of course, my eyes fall directly to his crotch. I groan, and he gives me a cocky, almost knowing, grin. “What are you thinking right now?”

AC/DC screams through my head.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Too quickly. Then cover it with a subject much more pertinent to our current circumstances. “Just wondering why that guy tried to take me with him at first. Why not just take the damned box and go? Why did he deliberately come after me?”

Jax blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve been wondering that too. If he was the man who killed your mom, how did you recognize him?”

“His shoes. I had a long time to study them while I was lying under that bed. And there was some mud spattered on the hem of his black pants. When that guy came in, I noticed it right away.”

“And you said he left after speaking to someone about searching the house?”

“Yes.”

“And you left there and went straight to the bank?”

“That’s right.”

“Mia, did anyone follow you from your mother’s house?”

Follow me?

I shake my head. “I don’t know. It didn’t occur to me to look. I just knew I needed to get to the bank, so I went straight there.”

He studies me for a long moment, then stands back up and paces to the window. “Let’s say they followed you and learned I was also after the same box.” He walks to the door, looking out, and then walks back. “That could have been why he jumped us at the bank. We were downstairs in a private area. Easier to cage us in there than on the street. Plus, he wouldn’t know if you had the contents or if I had taken them from you…”

I watch him pace, processing the possibilities out loud.

“Mia, he probably knew you were at your mom’s house. He must have known she wouldn’t have kept something that important in her home and was betting she had relied on you to take over her assignment.”

Goosebumps spring onto my arms. “What? You mean he was just toying with me? He knew I was under the bed?”

He nods. “He might not have known exactly where you were hiding, but that you were somewhere in the house.”

My stomach heaves and I cover my mouth, terribly afraid I’m going to throw up. Could this be true? Had he been playing with me all along, waiting for me? While I’d feared for my life, he’d only wanted what Mom had so carefully hidden?

I circle back to the same question. “If he only wanted the box, then why try to take me too?”

Jax lifts a shoulder. “Insurance, maybe. Or maybe he wasn’t sure how much you knew of your mother’s business. He might think you are a co-worker, so to speak. Especially now, after the way you attacked him. Ordinary people don’t have the balls to do something like that.”

I don’t tell him that Mom had forced me into martial arts classes from the time I was little or made me take nearly every self-defense class under the sun. I can protect myself, at least I can in a classroom. But jumping Black had been instinct, fueled by grief and fear. There had been no technique, just rage.

“Another theory is that he suspected that you recognized him as your mother’s murderer and couldn’t risk keeping you alive.”

I look up at him and pull his jacket closer around me. “Then why didn’t he try to kill you too? You would be a witness also.”

He grins at me again. “In case you didn’t notice, he tried. And failed. I think we both took him by surprise. And I think he made a mistake jumping us at the bank, he realizes that now. There were cameras everywhere. If we’d been found dead, then his face…”

He trails off and paces back to the window.

“His face what?” I ask.

“He might not have cared if he’d been caught on camera because he might not have intended to be in the States long enough to be caught.”

“What are you thinking?”

“You said your mother wanted the contents of that box to be taken back to Russia.”

I nod, trying to follow his line of thinking. “Do you think the man who attacked us is from Russia too? That he planned on stealing the box and going back there?”

Jax shrugs. “It’s possible. It’s easier to be careless when you have a ‘do not go to jail’ card in your pocket. Plus, he’s with the Feds. He can just about make up any story he wants and most locals would believe him when he flashes his badge.”

I freeze. “The Feds?”

He sighs heavily, his breath shaking out in the silence. “When we were fighting, his jacket opened and attached to the pocket of his shirt was a Federal ID. I’m guessing that’s how he got past the security at the bank. He’s connected with the government somehow. He’s highly trained and, I’m getting the impression, highly motivated. Or a good forger.”

My head is spinning. The government was after my mom? What had she done? I had always felt that there were things she didn’t want to tell me, aspects of her life she felt were best hidden. But this is beyond even my greatest imaginings.

“God, what in the world is in that box?” I ask, glancing at it as warily as I would if it were a snake.

Jax squats down in front of it. “I don’t know, but it’s gotta be something pretty valuable or pretty dangerous. Ready to find out? Do you still have the key?”

Panic shoots a stream of adrenaline back into my system. The key? Oh please tell me I’ve still got the key. In all the ruckus, what if I’ve lost it? My hand shoots to my pocket, relief making the air rush from my lungs when my fingers close around the tiny piece of metal.

“I guess we should open it, right?”

I’m ashamed to say that a small part of me wants him to tell me no. Insist it is a terrible idea, and we should just leave it alone. I laugh. “Can we just take a nap instead?”