Point of No Return (28 page)

From what Jack knew of the Corps, people knowing who she was would have made her life harder, not easier. Brass would have used her to make diplomatic points certainly not in field duties. “I think you met your goal.” He rested a hand on her thigh. “For the record and if it matters, I like Honey much better.”

“It matters.
A lot
.”

He leaned to kiss her. Before he could, Liz’s voice interrupted, breaking the spell. “Hang on to your drinks and food, we’re beginning the descent to the first airport.”

Ruben and Liz formulated a plan to land at three airports to confuse anyone tracking them. They touched down and taxied to a hangar. Honey briefly opened the door, and the moment they were cleared for takeoff they were on their way to another space shuttle liftoff. At the next airport it was the same procedure, except he and Honey deplaned, picking up a car Liz had arranged for them. The plane went on to its home airport.

“A fifteen-year-old Fiat? Really?” Jack looked around. “How about we boost that Dodge truck? It has a reasonable engine.”

“How about we don’t. We don’t need to add the DC police to the list of people looking for us.”

“But this thing has a lawn mower engine.” He leaned on the hood, pleading with her. “If we do get chased I’ll have to get out and push to make any speed.”

“No. You just want to keep up the demolition derby crap. No one will be looking for us in this.” She climbed inside. “If you don’t want to be seen driving, I’ll do it.”

He gave it up. Grumbling, he squeezed behind the wheel and turned the fucking thing on. It sounded like a lawn mower. The tires were splashy, the steering was soft and the air-conditioner didn’t work. She was right, no one would be looking for them in this. He carefully observed speed limits and stayed off main roads, avoiding traffic cameras. There was no telling how far Global’s spy tentacles reached into government computer systems. His eyes constantly flicked to the rear views looking for suspicious cars, or someone on a bike, following.

The warm DC afternoon turned into a muggy thunderstorm evening with a steady rain. By the time they reached Honey’s neighborhood it was raining watermelons and frequent lightning illuminated roads turned into streams. On the designated street, he squeezed the lawn mower between two oversized SUVs.

“See,” Honey said, “we had a larger car and—”

“Got it.” He kissed her to eliminate any further convo on the subject. “You want to try and wait it out?”

“No. It’s four blocks from here. We’re going to get wet.” She opened the door and stepped into the driving rain. “May as well enjoy it.” She turned, stomping, splashing water, then belted out, “Just singing in the rain.”

He grabbed their gear and unfolded himself from the seat. Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting her face as he joined her. They locked arms and stomped and splashed their way to her house.

They entered through the garages and like dogs shook off as much water as possible. Jack crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, watching Honey on the steps removing her boots.

“Get those clothes off.” she said, peeling away her jeans. “You can’t go upstairs dripping.” She grabbed towels from a cabinet and tossed him one then worked at wiggling out of the wet shirt.

He pushed off the wall and held her arm. “Let me.” He pulled the shirt over her head and off. His warm hands molded her breasts. She put her hands on his chest with every intention of holding him off. He shook his head and gave her one of his willpower-sucking smiles. He gave her a quick kiss.

“People upstairs,” she managed against his lips.

He paid no attention and delivered one of those melt-your-bones, suck-away-your-breath, mind-altering kisses he did so well, unhooking her bra at the same time. He broke the kiss. “Nope.”

“What?”

“Note.” He sat on the step beside her and removed his shoes. “On the door.” He tipped his head toward the door at the top of the stairs. “Says,
House yours. Staying at bomb shelter.
Whatever that means.”

Honey twisted to see yellow legal-size paper with large black lettering taped to the door, ending with,
Talk tomorrow.

The bomb shelter?
Geezus. Kara took Buck and Coop home? They might just need to shelter in that basement to be safe from Theresa.

Jack stood and came out of his jeans and shirt. He was a commando kinda guy and she took full advantage of the view as he dried.

“You going to ask me in?” he said, wrapping the towel around his waist, amusement in his voice.

“We can do
in
right here.” She reached for the towel.

He took her hand, pulling her to her feet. “Up.”

“Okay. Would you like to come in, Mr. O’Brien?”

“I would.”

She danced up the stairs with him close behind. The moment they entered the kitchen lightning illuminated the space.

She took his hand, leading him to a small room. When the door closed, low-level lights glowed and she pushed a button and they began to move up.

His eyebrows tried to join his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. My bedroom is on the third floor and I don’t want you tired to begin with.”

The elevator opened into the sitting area of her bedroom suite. “Put the bags here. Bathroom’s there. Another one is down those stairs and to the right. Anything you need should be in the cabinets.”

Jack dropped the bags.

“In case someone is watching.” She pressed a key on a wall panel. “Blackout shades. With those down, we can have some light and no one would know we’re here.” Soft lighting, mimicking candlelight, came on. She took his hand and led him to her bed but stopped.

“What is it?” he whispered.

• • •

She didn’t respond. She had never brought a man up here or even into this house with sex in mind. Never even considered it. Why? Why now with Jack? What would Doc Freud have to say?

“Honey?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve had a man up here.” She turned and he stroked her arms.

“You want me to sleep in another room?”

“No.” Fuck Freud and all the psychobabble in the world. She’d been waiting for Jack. It was as simple as that. She turned. “I want you here in my bed.”

“We don’t have to . . .”

She put her fingers over his lips. “I want you.”

“
And
I want you. Tonight is my fantasy.”

She stuck a finger in her mouth and sucked. “What do you want me to do?”

He backed off a couple of steps. “Stand right there and peel those panties off. Lean from the waist to do it.”

She did as he asked, keeping her gaze on his cock, watching it grow. He stroked it, helping it along. Watching him made her hot and wet.

“Spread you legs and lean over again.” She did

“Come up slow, then turn around and do it again.”

She turned, saw her reflection in the full-length dressing mirror and laughed. He was checking her flanks in the glass.

“Over.” His voice was raspy and his breathing rapid. She bent and it was hotter than hell watching him come to her. He laid a big hand on her back. He didn’t enter her but slid his dick in the fork of her legs then out.

“Damn.” He threw back his head and groaned. “So hot and wet.”

She reached between her legs, wrapping him in her fingers, squeezing. He jerked back, breaking her grip. He swept her hair to one side and cupped her breasts, holding her firm to his chest. He walked them backward to the bed, watching their reflection.

He released her and threw back the covers. “Down.”

She could barely get her breath. She was on another plane of desire. He climbed on the bed, kneeling between her legs, and used his knees to spread them farther. Each sweep of his hands over her thighs felt like a branding iron.

“You are so beautiful. You have no idea what it does to me seeing you like this.” He leaned and licked from the top of her mound to her breasts leaving a moist trail of molten lava. “You taste so . . .” He sucked on each nipple until they were hard, then kissed his way over her body, finally pinning his mouth on hers and thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth. She sucked it and thrashed wildly below him. He broke away, put his hands next to her head, bracing himself, the tip of his cock pressing at her entrance. “Guide me in.”

She reached down, positioned him at her entrance and he moved,
slow
.

“Not slow.” She thrust her hips up, trying to take in more of him. A deep groan escaped him and he plunged in.

The night was a blur of pleasure.

• • •

The next morning they decided not to tempt the lust gods and showered and dressed separately. Honey laid out her class-A uniform, the full fruit salad of ribbons and badges on her blouse. She wanted to make an impression. On the plane, they’d decided to go to Quantico and share what they had with Colonel Ramsey. They would call Saunders and together determine the next step. Drawing on each of their contacts would increase the possibility of success to make an end run around insiders allowing Global to operate. Then it would be over. She checked her watch, seven twenty. Ramsey would be at work by now. As soon as Jack came up, she’d call the colonel and tell him they were on their way with news.

She pulled on her skivvy shirt, thought about last night in her bed, and smiled. Last night was different. It certainly wasn’t the difference she thought would come. Not a breakup. Not a fuck-fest. Two commitment-phobic people had made love. Did he feel the same way? Soon their problems would be solved. Global was done. The world would be right and . . . Jack startled her.

He was standing in the doorway, clean-shaven. She remembered him at the cabin after he’d banished the hairy beast. Now his handsome face was totally free of obstruction. “I was getting used to—” She stepped toward him and stopped. Jack, cell in hand, looked like the man she’d first seen at the lake. Pain. Grief.
Anger
filling his expression.

“They took Ali.”

Something inside her burst like a lightbulb under a boot.

Chapter 22

“This is it,” Jack said as they slowed in front of a brick-fronted home. The pathway to the front entry was flanked with short plants sprouting pink and white flowers and a perfect lawn. Shrubs closer to the house were neatly trimmed. All welcoming and inviting to a visitor if it hadn’t been for a half dozen black SUVs, three sheriff’s cars, and crime scene vans lining the drive and street. Jack drove onto the lawn between an SUV and a sheriff’s vehicle and rammed the gear shift into park. “Ready?”

She nodded and he swung the door open, heading for the house in a full-out run. A deputy the size of a bull stood, arms crossed, feet spread wide, blocking the front door. As Jack approached, the deputy put one hand up in a stop gesture, resting the other on his holstered gun. Words were exchanged and without breaking stride Jack pushed the man aside.

Honey reached over and removed the keys from the ignition. She touched her chest where the H&K and knife would be if she was wearing her vest, took a deep breath and left the SUV. The deputy watched as she advanced on the walk. The man was huge and intimidating. It was security theater. His department probably used him for that purpose on a regular basis. He held up a massive arm and gave her the same stop gesture he’d given Jack. She stopped.

“You family?” He narrowed his eyes. “Only family inside.”

She spread her arms to the sides, palms out. “I’m an intelligence officer working with the family. My ID.” She held out her military ID card.

The deputy, whose name badge said Barber, took the laminated card, looking suspiciously from it to her three times. She waited quietly.

“I’ll need to ask”—he tipped his head in the direction of the house—“before I let you in.”

“Certainly.”

He moved inside, standing in the wide entry until a man in a generic dark government agent suit came from the left. The deputy nodded in her direction and gave the man her ID. He examined it, looked at Honey and disappeared.

The deputy lumbered back. “You’re clear.”

Honey caught sight of Jack at the end of the hall talking to an attractive woman.

“Sorry about that,” the deputy continued. “I have to check. You know.”

Jack disappeared and she returned her attention to the deputy and smiled. “Don’t ever apologize for doing your job.”

He nodded and returned the smile. “Go on in.” He stepped to the side, allowing her access.

Voices, one of them Jack’s, came from the back of the house. To her left the man the deputy had spoken with reappeared.

“In here, ma’am.” He tipped his head back in the direction he’d come. He didn’t wait for her to enter first. She followed him into a sunny living room. Two overstuffed sofas, a low coffee table between them, flanked a fireplace and a mantel where two trifolded American flags in glass cases rested. Two wing chairs were arranged near a front-facing window, a lamp and stack of books on the table between them. A formal room. Not a room where the family spent time. Not a room she would pick for an interview. She preferred the kitchen or family room, where a subject was comfortable and more likely to speak freely. Here was fine with her. It would be easier to give short perfunctory answers to questions.

A second man rose from a sofa. Both men stood, posing, hands on hips, jackets pushed back and displaying the service weapons holstered at their waists. They had every intention of tag-teaming her. Not today.

Honey removed her Oakleys and cover and stuck out her hand to the closest agent. “Major Thornton, USMC Intelligence, and you are?”

The man blinked. His hand moved slowly from his hip to take hers. “Special Agent In Charge Justin Meyer, the lead on this case. This is Agent Paul Carpenter, NCIS.” Honey leaned in Carpenter’s direction and they shook.

“Didn’t know you were intelligence,” Meyer said.

Honey said nothing.

“We’d like to ask a few questions,” he went on.

“Of course. First, may I have my ID, and I’d like to see yours.” She held out her hand.