Thrill Ride (23 page)

“Little help here?” he grumbled, turning back to Vanessa, making sure both his tone and his expression accurately displayed his displeasure.

“What?” she asked innocently, batting her lashes and looking too sexy for words, all tousled hair and rosy cheeks. “I thought you liked puss—”

He slammed a finger over her lips and shook his head. “Don’t say it.”

She just grinned evilly around his finger as the rain suddenly let up, no longer lashing against the leaded glass windows. That’s how it was here in the Midwest: thunderstorms rolled out as quickly as they rolled in. And it was almost like their lovemaking had been, maybe not so much caused by the electricity in the air, but certainly enhanced by it.

As least that’s what he was going to tell himself. Because the other alternative was that it was, hands-down, no-holds-barred, the best sex of his entire goddamned life, and he just couldn’t go there. Not now. Maybe not ever. Because it scared the shit out of him to contemplate exactly
why
that might be the case. I mean,
oui
, there was the whole getting-it-on on the back of his bike that was undoubtedly super hot, but he highly suspected his level of excitement and enjoyment had less to do with the fantasy-worthy situation and location, and more to do with the fact that it was…well…
Vanessa.

“Is the big, bad operator put off by a little feline lovin’?” she taunted once he removed his finger, her light tone and teasing eyes jerking him out from under the weight of his heavy thoughts.

In answer, he grabbed her hips and stroked into her. Hard.

And that accomplished exactly what he hoped it would. Because all the laughter left her face and her mouth opened on a quickly indrawn breath.

“Upstairs?” she asked after a long second of staring into his eyes, her breasts rising and falling rapidly.

“Indeed,” he concurred.

And then the race was on.

He pulled out of her and bent to shove Peanut away while simultaneously yanking up his jeans and twisting off the used condom. She hopped off Patriot and leaned over—
mon
dieu
—to gather up her clothes before sprinting for the stairs.

God love her, she didn’t even attempt to drag on a stitch before she was hauling ass up to the second floor.

Running after her, he barely heard Peanut’s baleful wail of desertion before he was on the second-floor landing, chasing her around the conference table, delighting in her teasing laughter as she headed for the stairs leading to the third-floor living space, totally engrossed in watching the bounce of her round butt cheeks and the occasional glimpse he had of her jouncing breasts.

He made a grab for her on the stairs—all that tan, jiggling flesh was too much to resist—but she twisted out of his grip, and he was left to stumble up after her. Once they made it to his room, he tossed the used condom in the trash, caught her around the waist, and heaved her onto his bed.

She landed with her thighs spread, all that was wet and warm and womanly on display, and he jumped on top of her, settling between her lovely legs, reveling in the fact that she instantly claimed his mouth, sucking and laving and…
sucking
.

The woman was doing her best impression of a Hoover on his tongue, and the thought of how unbelievably insane that would feel on his dick had the top of his head lifting away.

“You gonna keep your boots on again, cowboy?” she giggled when he kissed his way down her fragrant neck.

He glanced up at her and Mr. Happy once again pounded against his fly because,
merde
, she was so goddamned beautiful. “Depends,” he smirked. “Would you like me to?”

She caught her plump lower lip between her teeth and nodded, her dark eyes glinting mischievously. “But lose the jeans, will you?”

“I aim to please,” he said, catching one brown nipple between his lips and chuckling when she speared her fingers into his hair, breathing, “Oh, Rock…”

Oui, ma petite
, it’s Rock making you feel so good, so hot, making you burn from the inside out.

And then she did it again, astounded him and left him breathless all at the same time, because she hooked a finger under his chin, forcing him to release her delicious nipple and stare up into her pretty face. “Richard,” that name went through him like a lightning strike, “I said,
lose
the
jeans
.”

And, boy howdy, in the next second you better believe he set the world record for shucking britches.

***

Two things woke Vanessa.

One
was the fact that, despite the glowing numbers on the clock reading oh-nine-hundred in the morning, it was pitch dark inside Rock’s bedroom. At some point, he must’ve inadvertently switched off the bathroom light which had been burning during all three—yes, count them,
three
, and the last time in the shower should really count twice
—
of the absolutely delicious love-making sessions they’d indulged in. The man was a veritable prodigy. They’d done it every which way imaginable and a couple she’d never even dreamed of.

Who knew turning her head toward the foot of the bed and hooking her heels over the headboard while Rock straddled her and stroked into her would result in her thighs squeezing together, which, in turn, allowed his penis to rub…Just. The. Right. Spot?

And that brought her around to the
second
thing to wake her…

The feel of Rock’s erection, hot and pulsing against her hip.

She grinned into the darkness and turned toward him, reaching down to palm the smooth, warm length of him. And he was awake instantly, the steady cadence of his breathing coming to a sudden stop.

“Oh, shit,” he said.

“Not exactly the response I was hoping for,” she frowned, stilling her hand.

“
Non, non, chere
. Not that. I was talkin’ about the light. I didn’t mean to switch it off. It’s just habit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said, stroking him again and loving the way his hips thrust up into her hand and the way he sucked in a harsh breath. “After that conversation we had in the jungle,” stroke, twist, stroke, “I’m not afraid anymore. Funny how easy it was to overcome once I actually knew the root of the issue.”

“I’m so glad.” His sleepy voice was a warm tongue licking up her spine.

And she couldn’t stand it. She had to kiss him. But morning breath was always an issue, so she satisfied herself with leaning forward to place tender kisses up the column of his warm neck and back farther, to his ear.

Stroke, twist, stroke. She kept up the rhythm she’d learned would shoot him to the moon as she sucked his lobe between her teeth, licking it softly.

“Mmm,” he said, and she smiled because she’d rendered him speechless. Or so she thought, because in the next second he said in that low, rumbly voice of his, “Climb up here,
ma
petite
.”

“Condom?”

“Hmm, mmm,” he murmured. “I want to use my mouth on you.”

And despite herself, despite the numerous things they’d done together, done
to
each other, that request had heat climbing into her cheeks. Because it was such a vulnerable position to be in, vulnerable and powerful all at the same time. But she trusted Rock like she’d never trusted any man. And, more than that, she wanted to please him, to make him understand how good they could be together, how good they already
were
together.

She kicked away the covers and pushed to her knees. Throwing a leg over him, banging her knee—
ow
—on the headboard in the process, she straddled his wide shoulders. Then she wasn’t thinking about her poor knee at all. Because he said, “Turn around.”

“Turn around…? Oh.” Oh!

She felt herself flush, but she did as instructed. He used both hands to palm her bottom, and the next second his hot breath feathered over her.

Wet.

She was instantly wet and aching.

And then wet and aching didn’t
begin
to describe what she was feeling when his hot, agile tongue speared into her. And when he growled, low and throaty…Oh, the vibration!

She nearly lost it.

But this was supposed to be about give and take, what’s good for the goose being good for the gander and all that jazz. So she bent, supporting herself with one hand while she grabbed hold of him, sucking his length into her mouth.

He tasted salty and male. He smelled like sex.

She was instantly on the precipice. And when he dipped his chin and caught her swollen clitoris between his soft lips, flicking it gently with his tongue, she knew she didn’t have long. So with her mouth and her hand she did that “thing” he appeared to like so much.

And her reward? The swift upward thrust of his hips.

Oh, yeah…

And, just as she’d come to expect, the man didn’t disappoint. He shoved a thumb inside her, laved at the aching bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, and when she began to tighten around him, she felt him jerk in her hand, felt him pulse. Hard.

And then he was falling over the edge. They both were. And it was sensual as hell, sexy as sin, the world shrinking down to just the two of them. Locked together. Giving pleasure and receiving it. The sights and sounds and tastes of completion melding together into one giant kaleidoscope of unbelievable sensation.

For long moments afterward, they remained like that, mouths on each other, breath shuddering from their lungs. Then Rock smacked her ass and she sat up, turning to glare at him. Which was silly, since she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

She was about to open her mouth to scold him when there was a hard knock at the door. And before either of them had a second to think, much less do the whole naked-ass scramble, the thing swung open and harsh light spilled onto the bed.

“Jesus Christ!”

Uh, that’d be Bill’s voice. Vanessa couldn’t see him because one, she was blinded by the sudden light, and two, she was too busy flying through the air as Rock grabbed her around the waist and tossed her to the far side of the bed, throwing the covers over her.

“What the
hell
, dude?” Rock yelled, and, yeah, Vanessa seconded that opinion.

“Sorry. Jesus. Sorry, man.” Vanessa could hear the embarrassment and was that…? Yes, that was definitely a touch of amusement in Bill’s tone. Great. Just…perfect. “I didn’t know…” Bill stopped there and even though she couldn’t see him, she was pretty sure he was fighting a grin. “Uh, supposedly there’s a guy at the front gate with this crazy story that involves you. So I was thinking…”

“I’ll be down in five,” Rock grumbled, the dissipating light an indication the door was already closing.
Thank
God.
But before it shut all the way, Bill said one more thing, “Dude, are your boots still on?”

Rock sat at the back window of BKI headquarters, concealed behind the tinted, leaded glass, and watched Boss lead the guy who was apparently claiming to have information about him through the back gate. The Knights knew discretion was the better part of valor. And as such, no one was allowed into the shop unless it was absolutely necessary. Which meant this little soirée was taking place out in the courtyard.

Already, those Knights currently in residence—all wearing leather and looking, quite intentionally, like nothing more than a gritty, and very dangerous, motorcycle club—were gathered around the unlit fire pit, arranged on the multicolored, mismatched lawn furniture. Each of the men wore an expression that fell somewhere between simple curiosity and overt suspicion.

Rock found himself falling somewhere between the two. Then his eyes landed on Vanessa in those goddamned sexy yoga pants, sitting on the green-cushioned chaise lounge chair, her gaze not on the man Boss was escorting, but instead on the ground in front of her, and he completely forgot about everything except the way she’d moved beneath him…above him, beside him. She’d been so sensual and sweet, so abandoned and giving. And, he was going to break her heart…

Because even though last night meant more to him than he’d like to admit—
oh, Lordy, did it ever
; he was going to remember it until his dying day—it didn’t change the fact that they lived in a dangerous and deadly world. Deadly being the operative word.

Which brought him back to the part where he was going to break her heart. Because she might’ve played the tough-as-nails-operator card last night, challenging him to give in to his desires, saying she’d understand if, in doing so, it didn’t change the way he felt about things, but the truth of the matter was she’d been deluding herself.

And the only thing he knew to do now was to nip this thing in the bud before it went any further, before the attraction and…and the intense
like
—for lack of a better word—she was feeling for him turned into full-blown love.

Because it could.

He’d been in love before and recognized the telltale signs. In her. In himself.

Mon
dieu
, he wasn’t stupid enough to think
she
was the only one on the brink. He could love her in a heartbeat if he let himself.

“Have a seat,” Boss instructed the mysterious man, interrupting Rock’s spinning thoughts and jerking his wandering attention back to the group in the courtyard. And though their voices were muffled by the distance and the fact that the window Rock was sitting behind was only opened the tiniest bit, he had no trouble hearing the guy’s gruff reply, “I’ll just remain standing, if you don’t mind.”

Then the man turned slightly, and something about his face sent an odd sensation skittering across the front of Rock’s cerebral cortex, halting his breath for a nanosecond.

Was it memory? Or some strange recognition of a brother-in-arms. Both?

“Suit yourself,” Boss crossed his big arms, remaining standing as well. “But I have to warn you, before you start going on with any stories about Rock, we don’t believe the charges leveled against him. And if you’re here to malign his memory—”

“You
shouldn’t
believe the charges leveled against him,” the man interrupted, and Rock’s heart leapt. “They were complete bullshit.”

“How do you know that?” Ozzie piped up from his position in a bright red Adirondack chair. As usual, a state-of-the-art laptop was balanced on one of the kid’s knees.

“Because
I
was the one to kill those men.”

***

Vanessa gasped, her eyes shooting to the rather unexceptional face of the mystery man—the guy had plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, and a profile that, while not unattractive, certainly wasn’t anything to write home about either. But unlike his appearance, the words that’d jumped out of his mouth were anything but ordinary. They made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end, and she couldn’t help herself; she slid a surreptitious glance at the dark window she knew Rock was hiding behind.

Holy
cow!
He had to have nearly puked his own heart upon hearing that news. She knew she had. In fact, she had to swallow, twice, before she could breathe properly.

If panting like a dog in the summer sun was proper breathing, that is…

“
You
killed them?” Boss asked, still standing, the equivalent of a giant human exclamation point. “Why would you do that?”

“Because that’s what I was trained to do. What I was ordered to do,” the man replied, the deep, nearly overwhelming sadness that pervaded his tone had Vanessa glancing uncomfortably away from his face.

As she looked around, she noted the courtyard was still wet from the previous night’s passing thunderstorm, little puddles of glistening water standing in the small irregularities of the slate covering the ground and darkening the shingles on the roofs of the outbuildings. And the air? It still smelled damp and electric. Like perhaps another storm was rolling in. Something massive and dangerous and altogether too mysterious.

She shivered in response.

“What did you say your name was again?” Boss asked.

“Jonathan Dunn. And I was The Cleaner for The Project.”

Hearing those last two words had stars dancing in front of Vanessa’s vision.

Could it be…? After all these months, could they really be on the brink of clearing Rock’s name? Of bringing him back to life? Or was Mr. Dunn completely full of shit? Some CIA operative sent in here to mess with them?

But he knew about The Project…Then again, maybe he
was
The Project. Maybe this was Rwanda Don, the freakazoid they’d been looking for. Maybe this…

Uh-oh. She’d better regulate her oxygen intake, and fast. Because her head was spinning.

Leaning her elbows on her knees, she let her head drop between her shoulders and concentrated on taking deep, slow breaths.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Dunn,” Boss insisted. “It appears you’ve got a story to tell, and we’re all eager to hear it.”

And that was putting it a
touch
mildly.

The scuffling of Dunn’s shoes on the slate and the scrape of a metal lawn chair leg assured her the man had finally done as instructed. And then he started talking. And talking, and talking…

After five minutes of listening to him outline a story very similar to Rock’s, she figured she’d tamed her breathing and was no longer on the path to going horizontal, so she glanced up.

Dunn sat on the very edge of his seat, his forearms braced on his thighs, his hands clasped together loosely, his face still the picture of heartache and misery. According to his story, he worked in the Albany field office of the FBI, and about a decade ago he’d been assigned a case investigating an organized crime ring. Apparently, that case brought him to the attention of the local crime boss—a man like the men Rock had described, a man who ran the show but was so far removed, hidden under so many layers of cover, that evidence linking him to any overt crimes could never be solidified. As a result of Dunn’s involvement, and the subsequent arrests of quite a few of the crime boss’s family members, the man put a hit out on Dunn’s wife and daughter. Only, like everything that’d gone on before, the crime boss was savvy about it, and the deaths were never pinned on him. Which left Dunn with a broken heart and the fire of revenge burning in his belly.

Enter the CIA, The Project, Rwanda Don, and the promise for an opportunity to exact some of that revenge…

“Now I don’t know why your guy, Babineaux, was blamed for those men’s deaths,” Dunn was saying, in his thick New York accent. “For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why a simple motorcycle mechanic would get pinned for the jobs. Then a friend of mine at the FBI informed me of the real nature of the work you all do out here, and I began to wonder if maybe he’d pissed off a higher-up who was looking to eighty-six him. Then I found out the truth about that last man…” His voice broke, utter anguish in his tone.

“What about the last man?” Boss pressed.

“He was innocent.”

Bahm, bahm, bahm…
She could almost hear the three-note trombone slide in her head, and she held her breath—screw the stars that started blinking in front of her vision again.

Steady, who was looking dark and deadly over at the picnic table while thoroughly cleaning his Smith and Wesson .45 caliber ACP handgun—the Knights were not above a little theatrics, and it was always good to let an unfamiliar get a glimpse of what was in store for him should he make one wrong move—asked, “How do you know he was innocent?”

Dunn reached for his hip pocket, and Vanessa caught the subtle movement of the men’s hands. The Knights’ concealed weapons were going to make some quick appearances should Dunn try to pull anything from his pocket that was bigger than a credit card.

Thankfully, all he extracted was a thumb drive.

“This contains the supposed audio file of the interrogation of Fred Billingsworth. If you listen to it, it sounds like he’s confessing to a series of heinous crimes, just like…” Dunn shook his head and stared off into the distance, his mouth thinned. “Just like the others. But this one
isn’t
like the others. This one’s a fake. A guy at the sound lab at Quantico confirmed that after I got suspicious as to why my kills had fallen on Babineaux’s head. I started questioning everything, had my man review
all
the audio files on
all
the targets. But the only one that’d been tampered with was Billingsworth’s. I…I don’t know why, but Rwanda Don lied to me about Fred. Gave me false proof of his guilt. And as a result…” He stopped again, taking a moment to compose himself. “As a result I killed him.”

Silence reigned over the courtyard, the steady drip of one of the clogged gutters on an outbuilding the only thing to be heard. Then, the silence was broken by Dunn shaking his head and whispering, “No. No that’s not true. I
killed
those other men. But I
murdered
Billingsworth.”

And the act obviously haunted him. Those other nine had been monsters. Dunn had probably convinced himself that what he was doing was, maybe not
right
, but perhaps
necessary
. But Billingsworth? Billingsworth had been an innocent.

And that made his death a horror…

She’d worked her entire adult life with men who made a living by getting blood on their hands. And if there’s one thing she’d learned about them, it was this: they could live with the killing, as long as it was just and justifiable. But if it wasn’t? Well, then they tended to have serious problems. Because the same inner strength that made them so honorable and dependable also had the tendency to make them incredibly tough on themselves and incredibly unforgiving of what they perceived as a personal failure, particularly if that failure came at the cost of an innocent life.

“Why are you here telling us this?” Boss asked.

“Because I couldn’t live with the knowledge that you, Babineaux’s friends, his coworkers, might actually think he was responsible for what happened when, in fact, it was me.”

“So why not come clean to the powers that be?” Becky said from her seat beside Boss. “Why not come forward and clear Rock’s name?”

Yeah? Why not? If you’re feeling so guilty about—

“
What
powers that be?” Dunn lifted his hands, shaking his head. “I don’t even know who I was working for over at the CIA.” Okay, so same ol’, same ol’. This Rwanda Don character was a frickin’ ghost.
Unfortunately.
“I don’t know who the hell to contact, because I don’t know who the hell would listen to me. And I
won’t
know who will listen to me until I find Rwanda Don.”

Vanessa wanted to say,
good
luck
with
that.

Because between Boss’s contacts in the intelligence community and Ozzie’s crazy ability to crack any computer system and code, the Knights almost always got their man when they went looking for him.

But so far in the hunt for Rwanda Don? Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

“I
will
find him,” Dunn declared vehemently. “And when I do I’m going to ask him why he…” Again he seemed to need a moment to compose himself. “Why he turned me into an instrument of murder and mayhem when that’s exactly the kind of men we swore to obliterate.” Dunn glanced around the group, meeting each set of Knights’ eyes square-on. “But I swear to you, after I find Rwanda Don, after I have proof of The Project, proof that I’m not just some lunatic off the street, I
will
clear Babineaux’s name.”

Boss glanced over at Ozzie. “His story check out?”

Ozzie was staring at his computer screen. “All the stuff about the FBI, the case, and his family is public record.”

Boss nodded, glancing toward the window Rock was concealed behind before looking over at Ghost. A quick dip of his chin, and the Knights’ acting sniper pushed up from his chair to stroll silently—it was eerie how quiet the guy was—toward the retractable awning the Knights usually kept rolled against the back of the shop wall. With the push of a button, the huge awning began to unfurl. At the halfway point, when it reached as far at its mechanical arms could stretch, it stopped. Ghost and Steady unraveled the rest of the tough, waterproof material, pulling it tight and securing the corners to permanent posts located at the far end of the courtyard. The result? A vinyl roof covering the entire area, protecting those in the courtyard from any prying eyes that might be in the surrounding buildings.

Then, the back door opened, and there was Rock. Looking big and strong in his faded Levi’s, Pearl Jam T-shirt, and sweat-stained John Deer ball cap. Looking much more like a good ol’ boy and much less like a hardened operator. Looking like the man who’d rocked her world last night, the man who’d stolen her heart.

And the expression on his face was indescribable. There was hope and concern and wariness. But above all else, there was pity. Because as much as he bore the burden of what had happened to Billingsworth, Dunn shouldered it more than a hundred-fold.