Danger Mine: A Base Branch Novel (3 page)

She swallowed. Fuck him. “You’ve already eaten.”

“But you haven’t.” He nodded in the direction of the restaurant.

“We don’t have reservations and your window seats were taken.”

“You needed a minute to adjust to the idea.” One side of his mouth quirked.

“What idea?”

“The idea of seeing me again.”

“Pompous ass.”

“So, my being here doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Why would it?”

“Great. Then let’s eat. Don’t worry. I’ll get us a table.” He turned toward Sushi Capitol and waited. He’d goaded her into that one. Yet another thing he did well—maneuvered people.

She’d mounted the ranks in a male dominated profession. She’d faced countless enemies and come out on top every time. She could share a meal with the man she’d let come inside her body. Couldn’t she?

An inhale meant to fortify revealed just how shaky her nerves were. They rattled together like chains in a haunted house. One foot in front of the other. That’s how she’d survived training and that’s how she’d survive Street.

Khani stuffed her hands into her jacket, took a step, and then another. The smell she’d never been able to pin down caressed her cheek. Her steps sped, bringing her even with Street, and then propelling her past him. She didn’t like anyone at her back, but it beat looking at him.

She grabbed the door handle and yanked it wide. In the time it had taken her to make an ass out of herself in the alley, talk to Law, and confront a man she never thought she’d see again, the crowd had eaten their fill and thinned. Street drew closer in the narrow foyer. She backed against the glass. Still his chest brushed her shoulder as he pushed past her and strolled to the waitress.

When the young woman’s dark eyes lifted the two feet he towered over her petite frame her mouth literally dropped. The server nodded even before Street asked his question. Like she’d happily meet his every request.

An agitation altogether foreign settled under Khani’s skin. She gnawed her lower lip. The powdery taste of cosmetics pricked her tongue. The new lipstick she’d bought—MAC’s Lady Danger—probably stained the front of her teeth red and had her mouth looking like a well-used hooker’s. She cut her gaze to the cooler of fish at the bar and ran her tongue along the front of her teeth.

“All set.” Street pulled out a chair at a table against the wall. His open hand offered her to sit, while his expression offered nothing. “I ordered you a water, edamame, and a nigiri tray. Do you want anything else?”

“Yes.” She pulled out the chair across from him and sat facing the street…both of them. Who the hell named their kid King Street?

“You are something else.” He shook the crooked smile of his face and sat.

“I want to know how you know what I order,” she demanded.

“I asked the waitress.” Street pressed his elbows onto the table and held his palms together. The callused skin of his hand caused her own to dampen. His strong brow dipped. He looked at her with hooded eyes. “Anything else?”

“Why are you really here?”

He smiled for the first time. It held more mischief than humor. “I can’t say.”

“Or won’t.”

“Can’t. You know how it is. Classified is classified.” He whispered the last of it.

“Are you transferring?”

Street held her gaze for a full minute without moving or saying a word.

Oh, she played strong and silent with the best of them. Talking wasn’t her strong suit anyway. She relaxed back into the chair and scrutinized him as closely as he studied her. Mystery shrouded this man and not in the I-wonder-what-his-hobbies-are kind of way.

Bloody hell. Mystery led to intrigue. With the way he fucked he didn’t need to add to the temptation. She feared the answer would only pull her deeper under his spell.

The waitress brought two waters and steaming towels for their hands. She lingered by Street, and then collected his towel and finally hers. “I’ll be right back with your appetizers.”

The sounds of the low conversation, fidgeting, and mastication filled the silence of their table until the college student, or drop-out, returned. This time she carried two baskets of edamame along with her freshened face and now visible cleavage. Racist or not, Khani hadn’t thought Asian chicks had cleavage. Apparently everyone did, but her. The waitress sat the food in front of each of them and batted her lashes toward Khani’s dinner companion.

Khani straightened in her seat so quickly the young woman severed the string of drool she leaked over Street and looked at her. “You can leave now.”

The waitress’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Her eyes jumped from her to Street in rapid succession, before landing on Khani. She stepped backward. Her foot hit the chair at another table. The move must have bolstered her courage. She rebounded. “I didn’t think you two were together.”

Street leaned closer, his eyes intent and mouth curved.

Loath to answer the unspoken question for fear of pleasing either one of them with her answer, she planted her forearm on the table. Her hand crowned with a fist widened the waitress’s eyes, but also screwed up the woman’s mouth in defiance. Her long, board-straight hair fanned as she turned and stalked away.

Great. Now the little bird would spit on her food. Or worse.

She snapped her gaze to Street. “You enjoy that?”

“Immensely,” he grinned.

Khani gawked at the food. “How much do you think I eat?” In the excitement, she forgot about her silence. Blast it.

“Not nearly as much as I do.” He removed both baskets from the mound of green pods, and then plucked one from the bowl. His lips parted. The end of the husk disappeared into his mouth. He pulled the thing out slowly, dragging his lips over the skin as he had her skin too long ago.

Fuck it all.

In no mood for a demo of her oral skills—which he’d experienced firsthand— Khani popped the bean from her pods onto the plate before tossing them into her mouth. She’d only divested a handful of them when the waitress returned carrying two trays of nigiri and a pissy expression she directed at Khani.

Street cleared his decimated basket of edamame out of the way. The waitress moved to set a tray in front of him.

Khani scooted her basket over. “I’ll take that one.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. She looked from Khani to the tray and back.

“Yep, right here.” Khani tapped the table.

Kimi—according to the nametag on her chest—slammed the tray in front of her, and then hesitated with the other one. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Street.

After the woman hustled away his shoulders shook with silent laughter. “How’d you know?”

“Please. This is literally child’s play. I can’t even believe I’m putting up with it. The real question is did you know and would you have let me eat it?”

“I had a feeling and no. If she tosses herself at every guy that walks through the door, there’s no telling what you could catch.”

“I doubt she throws herself at every one. Just the…” She clamped her lips together.

“Just the…what?”

“Just the fat-headed ones.” She lobbed a soybean at his big head.

He caught the damn thing in his mouth and twitched his brow like the smug SOB he was. She groaned. His gaze locked on a place over her shoulder, and then shifted to hers, signaling that the waitress headed their way. A few seconds later the young woman breezed past.

Kimi stopped inches away from Street. She leaned forward, putting her tits in his face, and slid the tray with nine beautiful pieces of nigiri in front of him. Two cuts of fresh tuna laid over rice replaced the two strips of white fish that had occupied the tray. She slipped a piece of paper under one of its wooden feet. “Call me, if you want to have some fun.”

The soybeans in Khani stomach fermented. She wouldn’t give the little cunt or her one-time lover the benefit of seeing the display steal her appetite. Her fingers gripped the sticky vinegar rice and shoved the large piece of yellowtail into her mouth. With the fresh fish and rice combo doing crazy things to her tongue it didn’t take long for her hunger to return. It also helped that Kimi was called away to deal with new Hillers in need of a table.

“This is so good,” Street said two bites in.

She bobbed her head and finished another piece. “How’d you know I come here? Please don’t tell me you’ve switched to stalker mode.”

“Ask the right person the right questions and you can find out all kinds of information.” He grinned, and then popped a hunk into his mouth as though it were no bigger than a bean.

“Law? No wait, Mags has a soft spot for you.”

He shrugged and went palms up. “I can keep a secret.”

That he could.

Street wiped his mouth with the napkin, leaned back, and folded his arms over his middle. The view incited her jangled nerves into a frenzy. Her jacket suddenly made a good insulator for baking her alive in the cool restaurant.

“Why’d you leave, Khani?”

The questions doused the flames and left a damp chill in her bones. She wanted to tell him to stuff it, that she wasn’t his concern, but it would only prolong the inevitable. “I wanted to be closer to my brother.”

“Since you’ve been here how many times have you seen him?”

Wow, that hurt, because the answer was not once since she’d moved halfway around the world to be closer to her brother had she actually laid eyes on him. And now he was MIA. “None of your damn business.” She scrubbed her hands on the napkin from her lap.

“I want to know why you left.”

“Sure I had other reasons. People usually do when making a big change. I was tired of riding a desk.”

“Tired of riding a desk or riding me?”

Khani bit the sides of her cheeks to keep from speaking before thinking. She breathed deeply for several beats, and then relaxed. “It was one time.”

“Three,” he corrected.

“One day.”

“I remember. Do you?” His Adam’s apple rolled on a swallow.

“You think very highly of yourself, Street.”

“Facts are facts. We fucked and you split.”

“The fact is I have enough on my plate right now. I don’t need you…”
Need you what? Screwing me? Screwing up my life?

He ended the pause. “I never thought you did—”

“Thanks for dinner.” Khani stood and dropped her napkin onto the table. “I’m sure our waitress will happily provide your dessert.”

She hurried to the door, and then darted down the sidewalk as though guerrilla fighters dogged her heals. Once safely inside her car and zipping down the road, she called Zeke. Maybe she should get him to carry out a hit on Street. This time his voicemail picked-up without one hopeful ring.

“Z, call me. Whenever. Whatever. Call.”

“
T
hanks for making
the trip on such short notice.” The commander of the Base Branch’s eastern US headquarters stuck his hand out and squeezed Street’s in a firm shake.

“Happy to help.” He stepped into the office and sized-up the ace in a fraction of a second. Rough working man’s hands. Stout frame. Intelligent eyes. Crooked nose of a fighter. In short, Vail Tucker was the warrior he’d heard tales about over the last two years of his Branch training.

Street closed the door behind him.

“You come highly recommended.” Tucker stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest. An unexpected grin curved the side of his mouth. “I’ve never spoken to the Queen before, but she was adamant you were the man for the job.”

“I can’t believe she would break the silence to recommend me. It goes to show how much she trusts and values the Branch’s work.”

“No shit,” Tucker laughed. “Now I know why your file was sealed.”

“Her majesty’s confidence is of the upmost importance.” Street straightened to his full height to drive home his message. “If word ever leaked that she was behind the investigation, and subsequent public revelation, of decades of covered-up abuse that brought the Catholic church to its knees, it would rip England in two.”

Tucker held his gaze. “She’s a shrewd woman, recognizing your unique position, intelligence, and abilities, and then putting them to use.”

Street harrumphed, the noise rattling his whole chest. “I guess it only makes me half a traitor.”

“Not at all. It’s all about the greater good.”

Bitterness fringed his laugh. “While investigating, while serving my queen, I broke the trust of the only person on this pile of dirt that ever gave a shit about me. I dragged his demons into the light.” Street scrubbed an itch on his forehead, and then drilled Tucker with his gaze. “Would you kill Carmen to protect innocents for things that are only possibilities and odds?”

The man’s jaw flexed. His hands chaffed together. The dry friction released the tension in his face. “No. Which goes to show you’re a better man than I am.”

“That’s an opinion not shared by many. Not even me.”

“Then you’re too hard on yourself.”

“If I’m not, who will be?”

Tucker stepped around to the back of his desk and kicked back in his cushy leather seat. “Well, I know someone who will.” He swiveled toward the phone, hit a few buttons, and the line trilled a half-ring.

“What?” came the gruff voice of his dreams.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Tucker said.

“I’m only on my second cup of coffee. The sun isn’t up yet. I got shit for sleep last night. I have a hell-a-lot of stuff to get done this morning, and you’re interrupting progress,” Khani snapped.

“Give me ten minutes in my office. I’ll lighten your load,” Tucker enticed.

“It’s your funeral,” she sighed.

“You saved me. You can’t kill me. Besides, I have fresh coffee—”

“I’m on my way.” The line went dead.

“Have a seat,” Tucker offered.

Street sank into the chair across from Tucker and farthest from the doorway. When Khani came into the office he didn’t want to be in the direct line of fire. He rested his elbow on the armrest and scoured his hand over his chin. It wasn’t the time to smile, but damn. He hadn’t had as much fun as he’d had in the last twelve hours since he’d been shot.

That sounded fucked up even in his own mind.

Memories of that day enveloped his brain in a fog of mystique and ecstasy. Khani’s fingers glided over the stitches he’d sewn into his own skin. His arm throbbed, remembering the sting of her touch. Other things throbbed too.

His forearms tingled from where she’d bound him to the back frame of the wooden chair with medical tape. His cock lengthened, remembering her eager mouth working him deep, reliving the way she stripped off her bottoms and straddled him otherwise fully clothed.

“So,” Tucker yanked him back to the present, “you worked under Khani in London. I don’t have to tell you she’ll be pissed at both of us for dropping this on her with no warning.”

“Nope, but I’ve dealt with her wrath before. I quite enjoy the challenge.”

“In a few days, remember you said that.” Tucker stood at the rapid click of a woman’s shoes.

Street stood and braced for the bomb that was Khani Slaughter and the havoc she wreaked on his body and soul.

The door sailed open. “Where’s the coff—” She stopped so quickly her onyx hair grazing the tops of her shoulder swooshed forward, momentarily covering her red mouth. Her smokey gaze bore a hole in his, leapt to Tucker’s, and then back to him. Those long, lean, capable fingers whitened around her silver coffee thermos.

His pride evaporated. If Tucker wasn’t in the room he might just fall to his knees and beg to get those hands on him again.

She stepped into the room and hummed the door closed. Boy was she pissed.

It had taken hours for her to let him kiss her that day. Once she started she hadn’t stopped until she cut his bonds and rushed out the door. The experience taught him persistence paid off where Khani was concerned.

“It’s good to see you again, LTC.”