HOT SEAL Rescue (HOT SEAL Team - Book 3) (3 page)

M
iranda didn’t like
that he was sharing what had happened so far with someone on the phone, but there wasn’t any way to stop him. She eyed him as he talked, her blood humming with interest and frustration combined.

It was the kind of frustration that came from being stuck here with a man who’d gotten the jump on her, not sexual frustration.

Though, dammit, there was a particular buzzing in the vicinity of her nether regions that indicated parts of her might be interested in parts of him if the timing was right.

Why oh why couldn’t she be a normal woman on a trip to Vegas? Maybe one who’d gotten dumped and had come here to ease her broken heart? A little hot sex with a handsome stranger might just be the way to cure that kind of pain, though Miranda wouldn’t know.

She’d never been dumped, and she’d never spent enough time with any one guy to get hung up on him. Mark had been different. He’d saved her from God only knows what kind of life when he’d plucked her from a strip club at the tender age of eighteen. He’d been part of a joint task force sting operation to bring down a drug network that had been centered in the club. She’d been so new there, so green, just trying to find her way in a world that had never been very welcoming.

It’s what happened when you ran away from home and didn’t have any plan for how to take care of yourself.

Mark had done a lot for her, though she’d hardly seen him for two years after that night. When she was twenty-two, she’d joined the CIA. When she was twenty-three, he’d finally come to see her as adult enough to make her own decisions about sleeping with him.

The sex was comfortable, not earth-shattering, but that’s what she wanted. Comfort.

There was nothing comfortable about the throbbing need manifesting inside her nether regions right now. No, this kind of desire was not something rational or sensible.

Cody the Cowboy—she thought of him that way because of the boots and faded jeans, though why that was she couldn’t say—still had her purse under his arm. It was funny in a way, and not so funny in all the ways that mattered.

Holy shit but he’d disarmed her fast. Before she even knew he intended it. Yeah, that made her angry because it knocked her off her game. Was she getting so bad that she couldn’t defend against such a maneuver? Hell, she hadn’t even seen it coming—and that was embarrassing in the extreme.

What would Badger say? What would Mark have said? They’d be ashamed of her, she was certain.

She took comfort in the fact that as quickly as he’d disarmed her, he could have killed her if that was his intention. If he’d been working for Conti, he’d have done it already.

Unless Conti wanted to find out who else was involved in this operation…

Miranda shook her head. No, that wasn’t his style at all. Besides, he already knew something because he’d known who she was. Her cover had been blown, and that wasn’t easy to do. She had to consider the implications of that—an inside job?

Possibly.

“Yo, Jane—care to provide any further information for my buddies here?” Cody was standing over her with the phone at his ear. Waiting for her to say who she was and what she was doing.

Not happening.

“Sorry, no. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Cody snorted. “See, man?” he said into the phone. “Told you it wasn’t happening. … Yeah, all right. Call you in two hours.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone into his jeans. Then he opened up her purse, removed the Sig, cleared it—and ejected the clip. Son of a bitch.

He gave her a shit-eating grin that made her want to clock him as he tossed the gun and purse back to her.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” she demanded, holding up the empty Sig.

“Dunno, baby. But until you tell me who you are and what this is all about, I’m not giving you the ammo.”

Miranda got to her feet. “And just how do you expect me to defend myself?”

His grin didn’t change. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He shouldered his duffel bag. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Miranda grabbed her shoes. No way was she putting them on just yet. “Wait a minute—just where do you think we’re going anyway? You have no idea who I am, or where I need to go, or even who’s after me—”

“Now that’s where you’re wrong, sunshine. I do know who’s after you. You told me his name, remember?”

Miranda barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Literal-ass jerk. “He’s dangerous. You have no idea.”

“Sure I do. I just found out all I needed to know about Victor Conti. He deals in drugs and guns for the most part with some petty sex trade on the side. Porn films typically, mostly because he likes to watch the filming—oh, and then he likes to take the starlets home and reenact the whole thing privately.”

Miranda could only gape. It had taken weeks of work to gather all that information. So far as she knew, it was classified. And yet this cowboy knew it all in a matter of minutes.

“You aren’t a Navy SEAL,” she said, her heart thumping. “I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t that.”

“Actually, I am. But I work for an organization that, uh, knows things. If you’re involved with Conti, then you’re either with the FBI, DEA, or the CIA. Conti’s illegal activities fall under the areas of interest for any of the three.”

Crap.

“So care to tell me which one it is?” he finished. “Might make this a bit easier for both of us.”

“You planning to give me back my ammunition if I do?”

“Depends,” he said.

Miranda sighed. Her default setting was not to trust anyone, but maybe she needed to start. Not that she’d tell him everything. Definitely not. But she could give him enough to relax his guard—and then she could give him the slip when she got the chance.

Or, hell, maybe he’d prove to be useful after all.

“CIA,” she said. “We’re interested in the arms dealing, of course. He’s been supplying guns to ISIS and the Freedom Force, among others, for quite some time. But he’s also putting assault weapons on the streets here, and that’s not a good thing. Of course, that’s the FBI’s territory, but we’re cooperating on this one.”

“So what’s your real name, Jane?”

“Actually, that is my real name—my middle name. My first name is Miranda.”

“Miranda,” he said softly, and a shiver ran down her spine. Liquid heat took up residence in her core, spilling out into her limbs. All because of the way he said her name. What the hell was that about?

“That’s right. Can I have my clip back now?”

“Not quite. Give me a last name.”

“Why do you need that?” It was against her religion to share her details. She’d had that drummed into her during the years of covert ops. Trust no one.

“Mine is McCormick. Cody McCormick, United States Navy. I work for an organization you’ve probably heard of, but I’m going to bet you thought it was a myth. Unless you’ve ever worked with us before, and then you know.”

HOT
. He had to be talking about the Hostile Operations Team, but she wasn’t going to be the first to speak the name. Yeah, she knew about them. Mark had done ops with them before in the Middle East. She’d once spent a rough two days in the embassy in Baghdad with a group of HOT operators. They’d been there to extract a major who’d gotten nabbed in a market and taken prisoner. But then the embassy came under attack, and she’d thought for sure the major was dead.

He wasn’t though. HOT came through.

“And what phantom group is this?” she replied, because she wasn’t going to let on that she knew.

“We’re called HOT. We deal in pretty much all the shit nobody else wants to. We go where none dare.”

Where None Dare.
Yes, she remembered that from the team she’d spent time with. They were proud of that.

For the first time, she felt a little bit of relief flowing through her. “My name is Miranda Lockwood. That’s not the name Conti was supposed to know—but he does. I don’t know how, but I’ve been compromised.”

Saying the words aloud was like releasing the pressure in a valve. She felt as if a weight was gone even though nothing had been resolved.

Wordlessly, Cody handed her the clip to her weapon. She took it and slid it home. Then she put the gun into her purse and draped the chain over her shoulder. The sense of relief washing through her was strong. She was used to staying on her guard, and she still would, of course, but his gesture meant something. He wasn’t out to kill her. At least not immediately.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Trust me now?”

She shrugged. “I don’t trust anyone. But I believe we’re on the same side. At least for now.”

“I’m going to help you, Miranda. We’re getting out of here. Promise.”

She’d love to believe him, but she’d learned never to count the chickens before the eggs hatched. That’s how you ended up dead in this business.

“I’m going to need a change of clothes and a burner,” she said, all businesslike. “Can you manage that?”

He shot her that sexy grin again. It melted through her like a flame cutting through wax. “Sunshine, I can manage anything you need.”

M
iranda was
as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs, as Cody’s grandma always said. She fidgeted in her seat, swiveling her head to look out the rear window of his rented Explorer. He’d taken a chance returning her clip, but he’d felt like it was necessary to get her to trust him. So far, so good.

Cody navigated the big vehicle through the crowded streets of Las Vegas, heading south. He’d first thought about taking her home to his grandparents’ place up north, but considering the kind of man Victor Conti was, that probably wasn’t the best idea. Cody didn’t know what Miranda was into, or what kind of hell she might call down on them once she made her call back to her handler.

Fortunately, Cage had called him with directions to a safe house in Arizona. “It’s not much,” he’d said. “But it’ll be a good place to go while we figure things out on this end.”

He hoped like hell they did figure it out. Someone had betrayed her—that’s what she said, and Cody tended to believe her. He didn’t think she’d been careless with her information, but then again he didn’t know anything about her as an operative. He’d gotten the jump on her, so why couldn’t others?

So many questions about Miranda Jane Lockwood—and few answers.

“What about those clothes, cowboy?” Miranda said as they passed yet another shopping center.

He glanced at her. Funny how everyone in his life called him cowboy even if they didn’t know he’d grown up on a ranch. He’d ridden in more than a few rodeos—bulls, broncs, and roping—but he didn’t do a whole lot of that anymore, unless you counted mechanical bulls at honky-tonk bars. There just wasn’t any time for it.

He rode horses when he was back home for a visit, and he worked the ranch even though his grandfather had enough hired help. After being on a dangerous mission, it was relaxing to spend hours in the saddle moving cattle from one pasture to another.

“Why do you call me cowboy?”

She shrugged and turned to look out the window again. Her profile was so pretty. Her lips pressed forward in a pout before she spoke, as if she was thinking.

“You’re wearing boots that look broken in, rather than a shiny new pair, and faded jeans.” She shrugged. “Stick a cowboy hat on you and there you go. You look like you could really live that life. Tourists always stand out, but you look like the real deal.”

He laughed. “Fair enough, I guess. I grew up on a ranch, though the Navy is my home now.”

“So the boots are authentic then.”

“They are indeed. Been wearing them since I was about eighteen, I think. Nothing like a good pair of broken-in boots.”

“About those clothes,” she said.

He laid on the horn when some asshole in an exotic car cut him off. “I thought it was safer to get away from the city before stopping.”

She didn’t respond, and he knew she was fuming.

“How long you been an agent, Miranda Jane?”

Her head whipped around, two whiskey-colored eyes staring back at him. “Long enough. Too long maybe.”

“Too long?” He glanced at her. “You don’t look like you’ve been out of high school for very long.”

“I’m twenty-six.”

“Me too.”

“So how long have you been a SEAL?”

“Five years. And don’t think I didn’t notice how you changed the subject just now.”

He could tell she didn’t want to do it, but she couldn’t stop herself. One corner of her mouth turned up in a smile. “You’re on to me.”

He’d like to be on her all right. On her, in her, with her all the way to the end of an explosive orgasm. His dick started to throb with arousal, and he called up the most unattractive images he could think of to get it to stop.

“Yeah, well, don’t change the subject,” he said gruffly.

“I’m not telling you anything. I’ve already said too much, in fact.”

“If I’d let you go back there, you wouldn’t be any better off than you are right now. Conti has spies everywhere. Guarantee you he knows we went to the Rio by now. He probably knows the room we entered and when we left. He also knows we’re in a rental, and he probably knows the plate number—”

“Which means we have to ditch this thing,” she said very coolly.

He admired the way she didn’t unravel under pressure. “Yes, ma’am, we do. I’ve got my guys working on getting us another car.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” she murmured.

“It’s my job.” It was, but he hadn’t expected to be doing it for another few days. Visit the grandparents, try to find Maggie, go to Cage’s wedding to Christina—the sister of the Alpha Squad commander, no less, and one seriously sexy lady, though saying that to Cage’s face would get him pummeled—and then back to DC and whatever new assignment awaited.

Life as he expected it to be, even if the bit about going on missions and risking his life was unpredictable from one operation to the other.

“Good thing for me, I guess.”

“Yes.” He glanced at her. “Where’s your backup? Why were you on this op alone?”

She didn’t look at him. “I don’t work with a team the way you do,” she said. “Some things require a lot of preparation and delicacy.”

“So if things went wrong, which they did, you had to get yourself out? Sounds like a shitty op to me.”

“I don’t question the work. I just do it.”

It didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but then he wasn’t CIA. Still, she couldn’t have been operating entirely alone—unless what she was doing was off the books. Now
that
was possible, sure. And it was mighty intriguing.

She let out a breath and turned to look at him. “I need to call my contact as soon as possible—which means I’d appreciate a burner and some clothing.”

“I’m aware of that, sunshine. You’ve told me a couple of times now.”

“Yes, but you don’t seem to be doing anything about it.”

Irritation was beginning to creep around the edges of his cool. “I’m telling you it’s not safe yet. Or didn’t they teach you anything in spy school?”

The corners of her mouth tightened. “You can’t think of any alternatives? Like I’ll hide in the backseat and you can go in without me?”

Cody snorted. “And come back outside to find you gone? No, thanks.”

She only stared at him for a long moment. “Why do you even care? You don’t know me. After this is over, you won’t ever see me again. What’s it matter what happens to me?”

He shot her a look. “It matters because my job is saving people from harm. I don’t put them in the path of it and then walk away.”

“I didn’t ask you to save me. I’m capable of saving myself.”

“Maybe so, sunshine—but I’m with you until we reach your people, so you might as well get used to it.”