Bang: B-Squad Book Two (14 page)

"Tamara, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," her voice was high, strained. "Sorry if I woke you."

He tried the knob. It was locked. "Let me in."

"I'm going to the bathroom." The words came out too shaky to be truth.

"Liar."

"I just need to get myself together." Her voice broke on the last word, but she sounded closer.

He tried the knob again. It was a simple turn lock, the kind he could have popped half drunk and totally blind, but breaking in wasn't the best plan. "Let me in."

"I don't—"

"Darlin', just let me in."

The lock clicked. He exhaled the breath he'd been holding and turned the knob. The door swung open, revealing the narrow bathroom with a bath/shower combo on the right side, a sink and toilet on the left, and the door that lead to Tamara's room directly across from the door leading to his. Tamara stood at the sink, her trembling shoulders hunched and her face turned away from him. She wore an oversized T-shirt and not much—if anything—else. Her formerly blonde hair was mousy brown and tied into the tight bun at the top of her head. She clutched a toothbrush in one hand and the other was curled into a fist.

The ice queen was gone, all her frozen defensive structures melted. Whatever had gone wrong now had peeled away everything, leaving only the vulnerable core. She'd hate to be seen like this, but she'd let him in anyway. Every protective instinct he had risen to the forefront at her show of trust in him, but it was more than that, something he couldn't put a name to. Not yet. Whatever had happened now to make her break down like this, he swore he'd find a way to make it right.

"What else happened?"

"Else?" She stayed turned away from him, but her body vibrated with tension. "I don't know if I could stand if something else bad happened to someone because of me."

He strode across the bathroom and pulled her into his arms. She fit so perfectly there, like he'd been made to curl himself around her and keep her safe, to be the one who would always be there.

She sank into him, resting her damp cheek against his bare chest. At that moment, he couldn't wait to meet Jarrod Fane face to face so he could rip him apart, one appendage at a time. He'd take it slow, extend the pain as long as possible, and it still wouldn't be enough to make up for this.

Isaac dipped his head down and brushed a kiss across her temple, whispered against her hair that it would be all right. He'd do whatever it took to make sure of that.

He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted her head up so he could look into her face as he made that promise to her, but the moment she looked up at him with tears glittering in her eyes, the words deserted him. All he meant to do was comfort her, let her know she wasn't alone. A soft kiss on the forehead. A brief touch on her cheek. By the time he got to her lips, she was on her tiptoes clinging to him, her tears dry and her mouth hungry for all he could give.

She opened beneath him and he deepened the kiss, relishing the feel of her response and the sound of her muffled moan as he licked, sucked, and tasted her. It wasn't a nice kiss. It wasn't meant to comfort her—not anymore. It had turned into that play for control, for dominance in a game they'd been playing since he brought her that glass of wine at Taz and Bianca's engagement party. He fisted her T-shirt in one hand, pulling it higher as his free hand went lower and cupped her firm ass. He held her close against his fast-hardening cock and she arched against him, a plaintive groan escaping her lips as her mouth slipped away from his. Her hands slid up between their bodies, so hot and hungry for more, but instead of a caress, she planted a palm above his heart and pushed back.

She didn't stop moving until there was half a bathroom between them. "I can't do this."

He took a step toward her. "I know the timing is wrong." To put it mildly. The middle of a mission wasn't exactly the ideal time to have more than a no-strings-attached adrenaline fuck, and whatever was going on between them was far from that.

"It's not the timing." There wasn't any fire in her words, no heat in her eyes. She'd gone stone cold.

Realization stopped him in his tracks. "It's me."

Her only response was silence. The kind that made the air thick and heavy enough to sock you in the gut and leave you breathless. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling. He'd experienced the same thing in the moments after he'd pulled the trigger in Afghanistan, after he realized his Corps wouldn't back him up. After he'd woken up that first morning as a man without a mission or a tribe. He'd sworn he'd never be in that position again. He'd never again need that camaraderie, that sense of belonging. Tamara's dismissal shouldn't have the same emotional punch—but it did.

"We leave in ten, darlin'." This time he made sure that last word came out more of a curse than an endearment.

She nodded, her eyes guarded.

Even as he turned away, the urge to reach out to her, pull her close and reignite her icy fire, grabbed him by the throat and squeezed tight. It was all he could do to put one foot in front of the other and get the fuck out of the bathroom before he lost the fight.

She'd pulled the pin on whatever had been developing between them. He wasn't about to burn up in the explosion. Instead, he'd focus on the mission, rescue Essie, and take the long way back to Fort Worth. Alone.

F
ive hours
after giving Albert a long hug goodbye, Tamara unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the Camaro's passenger door and stepped out into the gravel parking lot of The Idaho Inn. The short, squat building's best days had occurred a decade or two back. There was peeling paint, crooked shutters, and a buzzing neon “vacancy” sign hanging in the office window. Sharing the gravel lot was a sad-looking diner with two beat-up trucks parked in front.

The whole place looked a relaxing oasis after the world's most tension-filled road trip. It hadn't been pleasant but it needed to be done. When Isaac had kissed her, the whole world had gone sideways, and she was barely holding on as it was. She had to stick with what she'd told herself the moment she'd looked up at Isaac at Taz and Bianca's engagement party. Men were off the menu. Her plate was full enough already. All her focus had to be on rescuing Essie.

Isaac slammed the driver's side door and circled around the back of the muscle car to her side. He didn't touch her. He didn't need to. She would have known he was there if she'd been blindfolded and hog-tied. She could add that to the list of reasons why she’d had to end that kiss last night, because if it had gone on any longer, she wouldn't have been able to back away, and Isaac deserved better than someone like her.

He stopped next to her and rested his hand on the small of her back, leading her toward the diner. The electric awareness of him sizzled up her arm as they walked across the parking lot, and her pulse sped up even as she tried to ignore it. No doubt, from a distance they looked like an average married couple on vacation, but up close there was no way to miss the fact that Isaac's flirty smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Let's grab a bite before checking in," he said.

"Sounds great," she said, playing her part. "I'm starving."

The town of Causewell was 30 miles from Redfin, but that didn't mean Jarrod didn't have ears here. They'd stick to the plan Isaac had outlined before going radio silent for the rest of the trip.

A little bell tinkled when Isaac opened the glass door, and a blast of cool air carrying the smell of bacon grease swirled around them. She missed Marko and Elisa at first glance, but Isaac guided her to a booth in the corner next to one occupied by a man in overalls and a boy in a baggy T-shirt and ball cap pulled down low. It wasn't until the boy winked at her as she slid across the seat in her booth that she realized it was Elisa. Even then, it was hard to align the real Elisa, with her curves and perfect skin, with the sullen teen with his peach-fuzz mustache and pock-marked face.

Isaac sat with his back to them and picked up the laminated menu. "What looks good?"

Tamara was trying to make sense of it all in her head when Marko answered.

"We'll be at your grandmother's soon, Tony," he said in a voice softer than his usual gruff bass. "We'll be staying overnight, so don't let me forget to call Mama B to let her know we made it in okay. She'll be mighty teed off if we forget."

"Whatever," Elisa said with the bored insolence that teenagers seemed to have in abundance.

Tamara knew from reading mission reports that Mama B was Bianca. The code name and disguises were all part of stage one precautions, she knew, but it all seemed a little over the top…right up until their waiter stopped at their table. He was an older man who looked like a grandpa from one of Norman Rockwell's paintings, except for the bright red intertwined C and S—The Crest Society's logo—on the inside of his wrist. Tamara's eyes widened with surprise before she dropped her gaze as he filled her coffee mug.

"What can I get you folks?" the waiter asked.

She managed to mumble nothing for her while Isaac ordered half the menu for himself. By the time the waiter left with their order, Marko and Elisa were gone. The plan was in motion, even if it was a total fucking mystery to her. As soon as she got Isaac alone in the motel room, she was going to get every little detail he'd obviously failed to tell her when he'd gone into full on silent mode in the car.

T
he Crest Society's
compound reminded Marko of the Pentagon. It had the same five-sided shape with a protected center, and no doubt a person's level of importance grew higher the farther in you went. He and Elisa hadn't even made it into the outer layer before being stopped by security and ordered to park the extended-cab truck registered to one Mark Ryan. Marko had complied, gotten out, and offered his fake ID before telling the security guards he had an appointment. They'd called it in. He'd nodded to Elisa and she'd gotten out of the truck, walked over, and stopped three steps behind him. Glancing back wasn't the best idea, but he couldn't help it. His gaze always seemed to go right to her no matter what.

Seeing Elisa with her eyes downcast and as silent as a good, submissive wife should be didn't just seem wrong to Marko—it had his fingers itching to unwind the long rope of temporarily auburn hair she'd wound around her head in some kind of braid and let the real Elisa out. That wasn't going to happen though, so he shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants to stop himself from reaching out to her and turned back around.

The armed guards standing in front of the compound's entrance with their hands resting on the butts of their holstered nine millimeters weren't important. They were cannon fodder. The man striding through the open gate, he was important. Tall and lanky, he moved like a man confident that the seas would part if he wished it. Marko didn't spot a gun or any obvious bulges denoting a concealed carry, but that didn't mean the man wasn't as dangerous as a bear just out of hibernation.

"Mr. Ryan. It's good to finally meet you in person." Seth Wainger held out his hand, completely ignoring Elisa as if she wasn't any more important than a family pet.

It was a typical move from one of the Crest Society's male members, but it still pissed Marko off. He shook Fane's second-in-command's hand, squeezing harder than necessary but not nearly as much as he wanted. For as long as he could remember, he'd fucking hated assholes who could only make themselves feel better by making others feel worse. Self-worth wasn't a zero sum game. Of course, bullies never understood that. The dumb fucks.

"I second that," Marko said, turning his body so Elisa was cut off from consideration and the conversation.

He was here. He had a part to play. He'd swallow past the sour taste and be just the kind of douchebag his mother would cuff hard on the back of the head and his little sister, Gillie, would goad into insanity.

Wainger crossed his arms over his narrow chest and tipped his head back toward the guards. "The welcome may be a little much, but we never know when the government will try one of their fishing expeditions."

"Happen a lot?" Marko asked, keeping his tone neutral.

The other man shrugged. "Often enough."

According to the information Keir had turned up, six times in as many months. "You'd think they'd get the message."

"Amen to that." He gestured toward the gate. "Let's go in. I can show you around a bit. Mr. Fane is in a meeting, but he'll track us down as soon as he's free. I know he's anxious to meet you."

More like he was anxious to meet Mark Ryan's fictitious bank account. "And I him." He paused for second. "What about my wife?"

Wainger's attention didn't even flicker to Elisa in her ankle-length dress with full sleeves and a high neckline. "We have a women’s retreat here where the wives and soon-to-be wives bake, sew, and do their outside of the home chores."

"Sounds perfect." If he'd been looking to torture Elisa.

"Keith." One of the guards stepped forward. "Have one of the women take…" He looked to Marko, obviously pausing for him to fill in the blank.

Marko knew just what to say to a bunch of dickless wonders who were so scared of women they had to take away every bit of autonomy they had. "Mrs. Mark Ryan."

Approval made Wainger's beady little eyes gleam. "Exactly. Have one of the women take Mrs. Mark Ryan to the women's retreat while I give Mark the full tour."

Marko walked through the open gate with Wainger without even a look back at Elisa. If it had been any other woman on the B-Squad, he'd be worried about getting pelted in the back of the head with a rock, or worse, for treating her so poorly. It wasn't that Elisa was submissive. It wasn't that she didn't care. It was that no one lost themselves in a con role like she did. It was the coolest and scariest thing he'd ever seen, and it made him curious as hell to know the woman she was when she wasn't playing a role.