Fatal Truth: Shadow Force International (17 page)

Her arms were shaking, her knees starting to protest. Yet, she couldn’t move. His hand on her back sent a shock of warmth straight to that spot in her low belly, and from there down between her legs.

“You’re very supple,” he said, and his eyes held the promise of something inviting.

She lowered herself to the mat, his hand moving out of the way. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He started unbuttoning his shirt. “Shall we take it up a notch?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She nearly panted. “What do you have in mind?”

Damn, her voice sounded husky, seductive. He took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “I like inversions. They get the blood and circulation flowing back to the brain.”

He stripped off the shirt and tossed it aside. Savanna’s jaw dropped. His body was a sculpted masterpiece from shoulders to the narrow sides of his waist. Several tattoos adorned his upper arms and back. A few scars too.

With unbridled ease, Coldplay went into a handstand. “I can hold this pose for an hour. How about you?”

Showoff
. There was no way she could hold a handstand for an hour, but hell if she wasn’t going to try. She flipped up onto her hands, using her core to keep her from going over. “I’ve never timed myself, but I meditate this way. Guess we’ll see who can hold it the longest.”

He chuckled again, the sound sending shivers up and down her damp skin. She’d known him less a week and he was already the most fascinating person she’d ever met.

And the awful truth was, he knew just about everything worth knowing about her and she knew nothing about him. Yet, here she was, letting him into her world, trusting him with her deepest fears. That thought should have scared her, but it didn’t.

Instead, she felt safe, secure, and happy for the first time since Parker had disappeared. As she adjusted her weight on her hands, she actually laughed out loud.

“What?” he said, completely still. His control was amazing.

Sneaking a peek at him and his amazing body, she admitted the truth. “I haven’t been this happy, this carefree, in a long time.”

And that was no bunk.

Chapter Eleven

_____________________

______________________________________________________

S
AVANNA OWED HIM
coffee. Trace hoped he would get to take her up on the offer.

Of course, the way his life usually went, that was a pipe dream. A relationship wasn’t in the cards for him. His past was too much to share with anyone, even if he wasn’t sworn to secrecy. And the moment Savanna figured out who he really was, she’d most likely try to kill him.

But the image of the two of them as nice, normal people going out for coffee wouldn’t leave him alone. Another fantasy to add to his growing pile.

A new limo with a different driver arrived to take Savanna to the studio at six, with Lindsey once again inside. The assistant had called earlier and told Savanna the station manager had suggested she take the night off. Savanna had refused.

The woman had balls.

He helped Savanna into the car, taking the seat across from her and the assistant. Once they went two blocks and rounded a corner, he signaled the new driver to pull over.

“What’s going on?” Lindsey said.

Savanna echoed her question. “Is something wrong?”

Trace exited the car, saw Petit’s big, black Escalade pull in behind them. He leaned down and reached for Savanna’s hand. “New security measure.”

She took his hand and slid out without question, while Lindsey protested. “I don’t understand,” she said. “What are we doing?”

Emit Petit, dressed all in black and wearing black shades jumped out of the Escalade and opened the door to the backseat. Trace stopped Lindsey. “You go on in the limo. We’ll escort Ms. Bunkett to the studio.”

He shut the door on her next question and knocked on the roof of the car. The limo pulled away.

Trace hustled Savanna into the Escalade, climbing into the backseat with her. A second later, Emit resumed his seat up front and they pulled away from the curb, heading for the studio by means of a different route.

“Smooth,” Savanna said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were planning this?”

Trace shrugged. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

She laughed. “You really think someone might try to ram the limo again?”

“We’re not taking chances.”

Her face went serious, as if she were remembering the accident that had taken place only a few hours ago. “Are Lindsey and the driver in danger?”

Emit spoke up. “I’ve got a security detail following them to head off any suspicious activity. They’ll be safe.”

Savanna leaned forward and stuck out her hand. “Savanna Jeffries, otherwise known as Savanna Bunkett.”

Emit crossed an arm over his shoulder and did a pseudo-shake. “Emit Petit.”

“
You’re
Emit Petit? Nice to finally meet you.”

“Sorry I couldn’t get away the other day to speak to you in person.”

“I guess it all worked out,” she said, flashing those blue eyes at Trace.

“The stuff you wanted is in here.” Emit handed Trace a black briefcase. “Including the GPS tracker and the background checks you requested. I ran my TracMap system on all of the players, like you asked, including the sister. Nothing in particular stands out to me, but she runs in some interesting circles. Circles you’re more familiar with. Maybe you’ll pick up on something I missed.”

TracMap was Petit’s people-mapping program that showed relationships between people and groups they belonged to. It was similar to the NSA’s Net Map, which was used to track everything from human trafficking networks to targeted digital attacks on government and financial websites. “Thanks, man.”

Trace took the briefcase and opened it on his lap. Savanna stared at the thing as if it were a bomb.

First, he handed her a new phone, designed by Rory and field-tested by Cal Reese. It looked like her old phone, but had a couple more apps that would keep her safe. He pointed them out. “This app looks like a game, but it’s actually an enhanced tracking system so that even if the phone is turned off, or the device is broken, submerged in water, or exposed to extreme temperatures, I’ll still be able to track it.” He pointed to the second icon. “And this one is the security app that works with your home system.”

“Does it have the same number?”

“Absolutely.”

She checked her call log and messages. There were several of each, but she seemed disappointed and ignored them.

Still hoping for her sister to contact her.

Trace withdrew a small velvet box and cracked the lid to reveal a set of diamond studs. “I want to make sure I can find you at all times. In case you lose the phone or it’s stolen, these earrings contain tiny GPS chips. Put them in your ears.”

“Afraid I’ll get lost?”

The joke landed flat. Her fingers trembled as she switched out her silver hoops for the diamond studs.

Taking her hand, he held it and stroked the skin between her thumb and first finger. “Savanna, I won’t let anything happen to you. These are precautions. I always take precautions, always think ahead. That’s why I’m an expert at my job.”

The trembling eased. She smiled and gave his hand a squeeze. “I trust you.”

“Good.” He didn’t want to turn loose of her so he used his other hand to take out a tiny plastic bag of more trackers. “We’re going to put one of these in your bra, your shoes, and your watch.”

“My bra? Seems like overkill.”

“Clothes and accessories can be removed or damaged. The more trackers I have on you, the more likely I am to find you. If I had my way, I’d inject a GPS tracker under your skin.”

One of her pretty arched eyebrows quirked and she released his hand. “Give me those. How do I attach them?”

The spunk was back in her voice. He liked that. For the next several minutes as Emit wove his way through DC traffic, Trace hid the tracking devices in her left shoe and inside her expensive watch.

And then it was time for the bra. He handed her the tracker.

“Here?” she asked as she touched her left bra cup.

“Not near your heart. It’s highly unlikely, but the electric pulses the device gives off could interfere with your normal heartbeat.”

“Great.” She made an exasperated sound and moved it to the right side, sliding it under the bra’s fabric. “So here? It sort of cuts into my skin.”

She was holding open her shirt and bearing her cleavage. The tops of her luscious breasts peeked out over her pink sports bra. He tried not to look—or rather, to look only where she was pointing—but that was impossible. There was nothing remotely sexy about the bra, but damn if it didn’t support those heavy mounds perfectly and make him ogle.

His fingers itched to touch her, even if it was only to direct where the tracker should go. “I, um, why don’t you put it…” he touched the fabric in between her breasts, “here.”

“Oh, okay.” She fiddled with it and dropped the tracker into her lap. “Crap.”

Retrieving it, she handed it to him. “Maybe you better do it. I can’t seem to get it to attach to the material.”

Trace felt eyes on him and glanced up to see Emit copping a peek. Annoyed, he leaned over and blocked the man’s view as he took the tracker and zeroed in on the tiny area of bra between her tantalizing breasts.

Her skin was warm, a tiny gasp escaping her lips as he touched her.

“How’s that?” he said. “Too invasive?”

She didn’t say anything and he glanced up to meet her eyes. They were round in her face, a seductive curve to her lips that were only a few inches from his. The brim of his ball cap was nearly touching her forehead. “It’s…uh…” She shifted ever so slightly under his fingers. “Can you move it a little to the right?”

Swallowing the sudden wedge in his throat and ignoring the tightness in his pants, he did what she asked without taking his eyes off her face.

His voice came out low and rough. “Better?”

Her hand came up to cover his, her fingers moving between the fabric and his fingers, guiding him. “I think maybe…here.”

“Whatever feels good,” he said, and the curve of her lips grew.

Emit cleared his throat from the front seat. “Everything okay back there?”

“Yes,” Savanna said, her voice sexy and rough. She cleared her throat. “We’re good.”

As Trace started to draw away, she clenched his hand again, leaned forward, and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For everything.”

It took every fiber of his being not to kiss her back. Hard. To resist taking those full lips between his teeth and sucking on them. To not let his hands touch and squeeze and tweak those beautiful breasts of hers.

He licked his lips at the thought and saw her gaze drop to his mouth. “Just doing my job,” he said.

And then he forced himself back upright, shifting the briefcase to cover his raging hard-on as he started pulling out files.

Savanna’s phone rang and she glanced at the screen. “It’s Lindsey.”

She finished buttoning her shirt as she cupped the phone between her ear and shoulder. “I know,” she said to Lindsey. “I’m sorry…yes, I’m fine.”

Trace could hear Lindsey’s voice through the phone, upset about Savanna’s abrupt departure and rattling off a change of plans.

“What?” Savanna said. “I can’t do that. I
won’t
do that. The Hopland segment isn’t ready.”

“
I spoke to Hopland and I have a script for you. I was going to go over it in the car with you and then your bodyguard screwed it all up
,” Trace heard Lindsey say. “
What’s his deal, anyway?
”

“He’s protecting me. That’s what I hired him to do. It’s his job.”

“
Protecting you from who? Me?
”

“He believes the accident today wasn’t an accident. That someone tried to hurt me.”

“
Oh, jeez! Who would do that?
”

“I don’t know,” Savanna lied, “but like I said, he’s doing his job. And my job is to follow through on the Westmeyer investigation. So while I appreciate your work on getting a decent Hopland script up and running, I won’t be needing it tonight.”

Savanna disconnected the phone. Trace pretended to be engrossed in his files. Which he sort of was.

“You ran background checks?” Savanna said, fiddling with her phone.

“Those who interact with you everyday.”

“Why?” She lowered her voice a notch. “We know who’s after me.”

“He has minions. And not the cute cartoon kind.”

“And you think one of these minions is watching me.”

Randy, the doorman, seemed innocuous.
Definitely keeping an eye on him.
Trace closed his file and opened the next one, the building manager. “Probably more than one. What’s up with work?”

She let go of a tight sigh. “The station manager is upset I didn’t take the night off and now he’s pressuring the show’s producer to cancel the piece on Westmeyer and run the Hopland show instead.”