Playing For Keeps (Montana Men) (10 page)

Determined to ignore the dazzling colors, Rafe blinked. If
Danger could live in a room that resembled nothing better than the décor of an
1800s bawdy house, then he could sure spend a few minutes, get what he came
for, and get the hell outta Dodge.

“I…uh…Lace left three boxes of her things in the guest
bedroom. She asked me to get them.”

“Sure.” Danger shifted the walker, turned toward the hall
and led him to the room. He paused inside looking around. “I’m afraid Karen had
an accident with a bucket of paint and spilled it all inside one of the boxes.”

“Did she now?” Rafe snapped. “I’ll take the box. Maybe
Lace can salvage something.”

“Is this the room you screwed my wife in?”

Rafe clenched his jaw. He hadn’t expected a verbal attack
from the man. “Let’s not do this.”

“Is it?”
he
popped back. “Answer me, damn it!”

Reaching for two of the boxes on the bed, Rafe shook his
head. “That doesn’t deserve an answer, and you’re doing Lacey an injustice.”

“A whore is a whore, no matter who she fucks.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that…one time. But
when it comes to a whore, I think you’d know that one better than I would. Good
God, man, how can you justify feeling wronged? You didn’t want her. When a man
wants a woman, he doesn’t do…h–he doesn’t do to her what you did.”

Danger’s gray eyes burned with fury. “She fucked you the
first chance she got.”

“No. That isn’t true. Otherwise, I’d have made her mine
three years ago. Lacey isn’t a whore and you know it.” Rafe refused to back
down or keep the fierceness out of his tone. He wasn’t catering to Danger. If
anyone had a right to feel betrayed, it was Lacey.

“You didn’t answer me. Is this where you fucked my wife?”

“I have no intention of discussing what happened between
Lacey and me with you. I won’t turn our relationship into a laughing stock or
Lacey. You’re talking about my wife, the woman I love.”

“My wife first!”

“And she’s mine last. Jesus, Danger, ill or no illness,
you did some lousy things to the woman you were supposed to love and cherish.
You’re still saying bad things about her when you know your words aren’t true.
You can’t lay
your
guilt on her or
me. You wanted me to screw her. Don’t complain now because your plan worked too
well, and if you call her a bad name once more, I’ll deck you.” He eyed
Danger’s pale face. “I don’t want to argue or fight with you, but I have my
doubts you ever loved her like she deserves to be loved or you would
never
have taken another man’s word she
was unfaithful.” He drew a sharp breath trying to control his anger. “You
didn’t give her the benefit of the doubt or the courtesy of even asking her if
she was guilty. You went off half-cocked and cheated on her with Karen.”

Danger’s bottom lip curled. “You stand there and defend
Lacey when you spent a night in bed with her in
my
house?”

Rafe nodded. “I’m not saying what I did was right. I
should have taken Lacey and got out of your house. I’ll accept that blame, but
everything else was your doing. I knew what you wanted, what you were doing,
but Lacey had no idea what you were setting up.”

“Looks like I judged her right. She jumped your bones fast
enough.”

“Enough! Don’t stand there and pretend you didn’t know how
I felt for Lacey. You
knew
I was in
love with her, and you used it to your advantage. It took three years of
careful seduction on my part to win her to my bed. It only took you a night to
give me your blessing to persuade her. I don’t think I would have ever won her,
if you hadn’t thrown her away.”

“You sonofabitch! You set out to steal Lace from me from
the beginning.”

“Yeah, I admit I
wanted
her from the first moment I laid eyes upon her, but I would never have touched
her. I stayed away. Damn it, I
tried
to stay away. You kept calling me, kept insisting I come to Montana. You left
us alone together at every opportunity. Yeah, when you made it plain you didn’t
care about Lacey, then yeah, I made plans to seduce her, but I wouldn’t have
followed through…until I realized you were cheating on her. You forget, I saw
how you treated her, heard how you talked to her.”

“How I
talked
to
her?” Danger smirked. “You’re just trying to ease your conscience.”

“No. I don’t regret anything that happened between me and
Lace. You belittled everything she did. I decided to put more effort into
winning her, because you sure as sweet hell didn’t deserve her.”

Danger growled low in his throat. “I’m warning you, Rafe—”

“Uh-uh. You had your say. It’s my turn. It took time to
earn Lacey’s trust, to win her love. You treated her like shit. Worse, you said
cruel things to her that devastated her. I won’t let her be hurt like that
again, not by you or anyone else. And I won’t give her up because you’ve
suddenly come to your senses and want her back. You had your chance with her
and you blew it.” Rafe hefted a box onto his shoulder and turned to go.

“Was it good for you? Did she make those crazy little
kittenish sounds for you she makes when she climaxes?”

“For God’s sake, Danger!” Rafe spun around to face him.
“Where were you when I made her mine? Where were you when I spent an entire
day, an entire night and half the next day with her? Where were you for all
those hours? You left us here alone. It was your setup from beginning to end.
You wanted me to screw your wife so you’d be free of blame and guilt. Well, guess
what? Guilt isn’t so easy to shake, is it?”

Danger’s mouth opened, closed.

“I let you maneuver me into seducing Lacey, but she
doesn’t deserve your disrespect, Danger. I admit my part of the guilt. It’s
time you faced up to your part in this fiasco. Then let it go. Let Lacey go.
Because of what you and I did, she’s been through hell, but I intend to spend
the rest of my life trying to make it up to her. She doesn’t belong to you
anymore, man. She’s my wife. You have a wife, a kid on the way.”

“Lacey will always belong to me,” Danger said, his face
pinched with stubbornness.

“No. You threw her away like she was a piece of garbage,
just like Smitt Davis did. You weren’t happy with that, though, you trampled
her into the ground on your way out the door. You pushed her at me. I’m not
stupid enough to make the same mistake.” Rafe eyed the white gauzy bandage
around Danger’s head, the chalky color of his skin. “Look, you were ill. From
the things you’re saying and the look of you, you still don’t have things straight
in your head. Bad things happened we’ll all regret for the rest of our lives.
The one good thing to come out of this fiasco is my marriage to Lace.”

“We lost our son. That’s a little more than a bad thing.”

“I’m not insensitive to that.” Rafe sighed. “I know both
you and Lace suffer because of the loss of Joseph, but it isn’t her fault.”

“We lost our son!”

“Yes. And it was neither one of your faults. It was bad
timing all around, and there was nothing either of you could do to stop what
happened. You and Lacey lost your son, but she and I lost our baby, too.” Rafe
heaved a ragged breath. “We don’t have what you and Karen have, and we may
never have it again. You have Karen, and you have another child on the way.
Lacey…well, Lace might never be able to get pregnant again. That has to count
for something for you in the way of revenge. Smitt messed her up inside. Does
that make you happy to hear? Let her go. She’s suffered enough. Start over,
Danger, and leave her and me in peace so we can try to rebuild our lives.”

Danger swallowed hard. His eyes looked empty, bleak. “I
didn’t know she was hurt like that. No more kids? I’m sorry. I love her, Rafe.
I don’t know how to turn that off. Guess I’m a sore loser.”

“I love her, too. And I’m not even going to try to turn it
off. I offered her the choice to come back to you. She refused. Even if you
were free, Lacey wouldn’t have you back. You wounded her soul to the quick.
That hurt isn’t going away. I’m the man lucky enough to have her love now.”
Rafe turned and headed down the hall.

“Rafe?”

He paused, drew a sharp breath and turned around. “Don’t
say anything else about her. She’s been abused enough. I don’t want to hurt
you, but I won’t stand by and let you say terrible things about her again.
Lacey’s a good woman. She was a wonderful mother to your son. If you’re looking
for someone to blame, then Smitt Davis is who you need to direct your hatred
toward.”

Danger rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “I know. I
know. I always knew.”

“Then you need to tell her that. She needs to know you
don’t blame her for Joseph or Anna’s death. It’s eating her up inside. At least
give her that peace of mind. Tell her.”

“I will…someday. Not now. I can’t. Not right now. Need to
forgive myself before I can forgive anyone else.”

“Lacey doesn’t need your forgiveness, just your
understanding.”

Danger nodded. “Take care of her.”

“Count on it.”

“If he’s still alive, then Smitt Davis isn’t finished with
her.”

Chills raced down Rafe’s spine. His grip on the box
tightened. “I know.” He turned and headed for the door. Lacey had been alone
outside much too long. The urgent need to hurry to her felt overwhelming. Smitt
Davis could be anywhere. Like a chameleon, the bastard knew how to blend in to
his surroundings.

Rafe didn’t breathe easy until he reached the truck,
opened the door and saw Lacey propped against the pillow he’d given her. She
was sound asleep and didn’t stir when he placed the box in the back of the
extended cab.

Triangle, Texas waited. His ranch. Home. A new wife at his
side. Hopefully, if Lacey’s body healed inside, in a few months, they’d have a
new baby on the way. He prayed the surgeon was wrong and that Lacey would be
able to conceive again. If she couldn’t, they’d adopt. Whatever she wanted,
he’d do for her if at all possible. He just wanted her safe and happy.

Rafe went after the remaining two boxes, ignored Danger
and Karen, and hurried to the truck. Setting the two boxes beside the one he’d
brought out a few minutes ago, Rafe slipped inside, turned the key, and punched
the gas.

He couldn’t escape Montana fast enough.

Chapter Six

All journeys have secret destinations of
which the traveler is unaware.

~Martin Buber

McLean, Virginia

CIA Headquarters

February 16, Monday

Thirty-four minutes after the assassination…

Flayme
Jansen opened the office door and stepped into the long hallway. If she turned
right, it’d lead to the emergency exit, then down six flights of stairs. Left
took her to the bank of elevators and to the small alcove where the vending
machines were located, where she’d discovered the sexy cowboy earlier in the
evening.

The cowboy.

She
hoped he’d found somewhere warm to spend the night. Why she couldn’t get him
out of her head was beyond her. It wasn’t like her to let the memory of a man
persist, especially after such a fleeting encounter, but the brief taste of his
mouth on hers lingered, still vibrant on her tongue. She had no idea who he
was. Perhaps he was a witness to some crime or a friend of one of the agents.

Flayme
shrugged. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t likely to ever see him again. People
came and went. When she wasn’t taking an urgent memo to someone on one of the
other floors that was too confidential to send by email, then she was in her
office next to Sam’s, busy. Always busy. She saw a lot, heard a lot, but she
was blind, mute and deaf when necessary.

Being Sam’s secretary made her privy to things she was
uncomfortable knowing, but she loved the daily challenge of the job. It kept
her hopping. It also scared the hell outta her at times. So much political
government bullshit, but also a lot of intrigue and confidential information
passed through the offices.

Besides
handling a lot of top secret and dangerous information, sometimes the field
operatives were in peril. It was stressful for everyone. She was glad she
worked for Sam, because Sam cared about her operatives and did her best to keep
them safe and alive.

Flayme
glanced at her watch. Jayla Ross would arrive any second. She needed to
concentrate on that. It was difficult to judge what was going on. She’d talked
to her on the phone several times over the past few months, but she’d never met
the younger woman. Flayme didn’t know what was wrong, but she was familiar
enough with Jayla’s voice to know that Sam’s friend was upset about something.

Maybe
she’d had a slight fender-bender on the way here to meet Sam. Flayme was
certain the highways were covered with icy patches by now. She wanted to
reassure her Sam was on her way from D.C., so she decided to leave her office
and meet the younger woman at the elevators. However, she wasn’t expecting to
see a tall, muscular, attractive male waiting in front of the elevator doors.

Was
he one of the guards? No. She didn’t think so.

Continuing
slowly toward him, she pondered the situation. Strange. Not the rugged cowboy.
No, this man’s physique and clothes were completely different, more sinister,
and not in a good way. He wasn’t one of the guards. No way. One might think
he’d just returned from a jungle war zone the way he was dressed in camouflage,
combat boots, and so deeply tanned his skin looked the color of coffee beans.

Huh.
It must be her day for spotting hot, sexy males near the elevators.

And
it’d be great, except for one tiny problem
―
the building was locked
down. No one was supposed to be on this floor, except her and Jayla, and of
course Sam, when she arrived.

Everyone had left hours ago. This man had no business
here. She was pretty certain he wasn’t part of the cleaning crew who’d arrived
around ten-thirty and were on the second floor. So who the hell was he?

More
importantly, how had he got inside without setting off the alarms?

“Oh, shit!” Flayme stumbled to a halt and stared at the
wicked looking weapon in his hands. Her eyes widened. Now she had a suspicion
as to what had happened to the guards. Was he waiting on Jayla? Maybe he
wasn’t. Maybe he was looking for
her?
In that case—why the gun? “Hey,” she shouted.

Stupid
—
stupid! She yelled before she
considered the real danger she might be in. She worked in a place where
intrigue, mystery and deception were everyday occurrences. The agents packed
guns, so seeing a weapon wasn’t all that unusual, but they didn’t u
sually
stand in front of the elevators with one in hand.

The
man swung to face her, a startled expression on his dark face. He eyed her with
something akin to frustration and a hint of lethal rage. His gaze wavered from
her to the elevator and back.

“Fuck!”
His angry outburst reached her at the end of the hall where she stood frozen
like a freakin’ idiot. He hesitated, as though he wasn’t quite certain what he
should do, then he slowly turned the gun toward her and fired.

The
lamp on the long stand to her left exploded. Instinctively, Flayme threw up her
hands and screamed. Her sharp cry broke the utter quiet, along with the sound
of the shattered lamp base.

Because
the damn shot sure hadn’t.

A
second bullet missed her by mere inches and splintered the door facing where
she stood.

Silent
bullet? Silent shots?

Silencer!

Dear
God. The man was a pro.
A hit man?

Why
would a hit man be after her? No. No. That wasn’t right. She wasn’t thinking
logically. Good grief! She wasn’t thinking period or she’d never have drawn
attention to herself. He’d been
waiting in front of the elevators, ergo,
he must want Jayla, but with
her
family connections, she supposed it made
her
the possible target, and Jayla was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Her
mind raced. It wasn’t safe or practical to assume he was here to kill Jayla. At
any rate, no matter which of them he’d originally been after, he’d have to kill
both of them now. Shoving the terror to the back of her mind, Flayme spun to
her right and took off down the long hall to the back emergency exit.

Another
shot.

She
cringed as the bullet whizzed past her ear.

Ping!
A fourth
shot. Flayme gasped. Lucky, lucky miss, for her, but a large picture fell off
the wall and crashed in front of her. The tinkle of breaking glass as it hit
the hard tile mixed with her sharp cries of alarm.

And
damn, Samantha was going to be pissed. The boss loved that picture. Lamp number
two exploded beside her. Chunks of thick, chalky glass flew in myriad
directions. Some of the smaller fragments lodged in the back of her left
shoulder.

Flayme
groaned. Warm liquid trickled down her back and arm. Crap! Her suit would be
ruined. She’d never get out the blood stains. She moaned the loss. It was one
of her favorites. The sucker had cost a
small fortune. She’d scrimped on
lunches, movies, and other little treats to save for it. If it was the last
thing she did
—
oh,
yeah, damn, it just might be the last thing she ever did any second now.

Running,
determined to escape, Flayme landed hard on her left foot. The heel of her shoe
snapped, plunging her into in a headlong stumble toward the door. The broken
heel piece skidded across the waxed tile flying past her. It screeched to a
sudden halt, bumping smoothly against the baseboard, then spinning like a top.

Flayme
braced her palms flat against the wall, gaining control of her forward
momentum. Pausing for an infinitesimal second, she eyed the broken heel lying
on the floor as it stilled its crazy gyrating. Obscene.
Ugly. It glared back
at her, a leather chunk of nothing. She felt like weeping. Like her suit, she’d
paid an outrageous price for the sexy heels. Crap! Yeah, handsome or no
handsome, the ape in camouflage had a lot to answer for
—
just not right now.

Not
when there were more important things to consider—like her life.

Hobbling
the rest of the way to the exit door, Flayme gave up on being graceful. It
wasn’t at the top of her priority list or even possible, not when she limped
along like a one-legged grasshopper, but it was no mean feat to run when one’s
shoe heel was missing and the other heel was six inches taller.

Chink!
Another shot right above her
head.
Chink!
Chink!
Two bullets plugged the steel door in front of her.
Holy f-ing hell!
How many friggin’
bullets did the gun have?
Chills
tripped over each other in their rush to hasten up her spine
.

Dread settled in the pit of her stomach like a chunk of
ice. Sooner or later, one of those flippin’ bullets would hit the
mark, and shatter her spine or lodge in
her brain.
It gave her plenty of
incentive to haul ass, regardless of the missing heel.

Feeling
as if she was running an obstacle course, Flayme hit the exit door like a
torpedo juiced up on crack. It slammed open, banging against the outer wall.
Bang-bang!
It bounced back twice,
humming on its steel hinges, then stilled. She hurtled down the circular
stairs, stumbling and tripping, clumsy in her haste to escape the shooter
determined to put a bullet in her spinal cord.

Her
fingers clenched around the stair rail, otherwise, she knew she’d topple
head-first down the narrow stairs. A blanket of fear covered her, smothering
her. Her chest heaved with each breath she struggled to take. Time crawled. It
took forever for the door to close behind her and for her to reach the bottom
of the stairwell. Once she did, she thrust past the final barrier, fleeing into
the dark.

Finally,
she cleared the building. “Thank you, God. Thank You!”

Flayme
sucked in the cold night air. The icy wind cut through her thin clothes like
she wore nothing at all. Her lungs wheezed, but she dared not take time to
pause and catch her breath. The obscene quiet behind her didn’t mean the
shooter wasn’t close on her heels.

She
yanked the hem of her tight skirt above her knees and took off in a half-assed,
hobbled run across the parking lot. The freezing cold and bullets of ice
slapped her in the face with annoying sharp bites. She’d have been happy to
ignore the frigid cold and keep right on running, but she slipped on a patch of
ice and skated awkwardly across the parking lot. “Whoa!”

Flayme
let go of her skirt and flung out her arms to her sides, a balancing act she
realized almost at once wasn’t going to work. The ground was slick as a moss
covered rock in a creek. She fought to stay upright, her arms flapping in the
air like a damn duck with broken wings. No good. Her feet went one way and her
body went another.
Smack!
Excruciating pain hammered her chin and high on her left cheek bone. She lay
there face-first on the ice-covered ground, too stunned to move.

“Shit,”
she managed to choke.

The pain. Groaning, Flayme bit her lip to keep from
sobbing from the toe-curling agony. Her cheekbone smarted. Her palms burned.
Her body throbbed. She’d heard of seeing stars, and boy howdy, it was true. For
real, she saw little yellow lights twirling inside her head.

Droplets
of blood spattered the tops of her hands.
“Crap.”
Was it dripping from her nose or her mouth? Flayme touched her lips with
unsteady fingers. Her mouth. Her lower lip felt as chubby as a grape and bled
profusely. It didn’t matter how much blood dotted the pure white snow, or if
she saw a gazillion stars whirling in her head. If she didn’t get up and get
moving, she was dead. Scrambling to her feet willy-
nilly, she fled into
the night, into the icy, frozen pitch-black dark
—
without a coat, her purse
—
keys?
Horrified that she might have left her keys in her office, she patted her suit
pocket. “Please be there. Please,” she said breathlessly.
“Yes!”
She pulled the keys from her side pocket and sighed with
relief. “There is a God.”

Boy,
her face throbbed worse than a toothache. She wondered if she’d broken
something. Her nose? A jawbone? Cheekbone. Her entire face? “So what? I’ll
live…maybe.”

But
she might not survive a gunshot wound.
Hurry!
Hurry!
She beat a hasty path to her car and prayed for Jayla’s safety.

Unfortunately,
there was nothing she could to do help her.

It
was up to the younger woman to save herself.