Thrill Ride (9 page)

“I want copies of every piece of intel and—”

“Now, hold on a second,” the voice on the other end of the line sounded alarmed. “You know I like you and I think it’s a shame The Company shit-canned The Project all those years ago. And I’ve been happy to help you out up until now. But this thing we had going is done. It’s over. And I’m only keeping you in the loop now as a favor and because—”

“You’re keeping me in the loop because your ass in on the line just as much as mine is. And you
helped
me
out
because you were greedy and wanted the money The Project could provide you with. So don’t try pulling that self-righteous bullshit on me. You forget who you’re talking to.”

“Fine.” The word was spat out like a hunk of rancid meat. “But it’s one thing to keep you up-to-date on our activities. It’s another thing entirely to funnel copies of top secret documents your way. It’s my neck on the line over here.”

R.D. sighed in exasperation. “I understand that ever since we sacrificed the funds we took—”

“Stole,” the agent interrupted. “Have the balls to call it what it is. We stole those funds.”

A blood vessel in R.D’s temple began to pound. “Fine. I understand that after we had to sacrifice the funds we
stole
from The Project’s targets by anonymously donating them to those charities—”

“A goddamned waste of good money, if you ask me,” the agent grumbled, and R.D. had the urge to reach through the phone and strangle the fucker.

“Would you stop interrupting me?”

“Why did you have to use that money for the campaign? You know that stuff always gets vetted time and again. It was a stupid—”

Now it was R.D.’s turn to interject. “Shut up! We’ve gone over this. I made sure to cover my tracks. I spread it out over legitimate sources—”

“Not legitimate enough, obviously. Billingsworth smelled the stench and started nosing around.”

Yes, he had. And it was a crying shame.

“What’s done is done,” R.D. insisted with a growl. “Now we just have to clean up the mess. Which brings me back to the point that even though you no longer have monetary incentive to continue helping and sharing information with me, you certainly have a personal one. I need to see that intel. You don’t have time to go through it piece by piece to make sure Rock didn’t find anything that points back at us. I do. Get me the documents.”

“Nothing points back to me,” the agent announced, a chilling sort of certainty in his voice. “It was
your
twin brother’s murderer who was The Project’s first target. It was
your
use of the funds for campaign purposes that resulted in Billingsworth needing to die.”

It took everything R.D. had to maintain calm. “Have you forgotten it was
you
who pointed the CIA to Rock’s post office box after he started nosing around? And, believe me,
partner
, if I go down for this, I’m not doing it alone.”

“Are you threatening me?”

R.D. leaned forward, sighing heavily. “Just get me that intel, will you?”

“I’ll do what I can,” the agent declared, but R.D. detected a note of indecision.

Shit!
It couldn’t fall apart now. “We need to stick together on this. I…” What R.D. was about to do rankled so badly it necessitated a pause. “I have some money left over from my brother’s life insurance policy if that will help you come to the right decision.”

“How much?” the agent asked curiously.

A hard stone of hatred settled at the bottom of R.D.’s stomach. “How much will it take?”

Vanessa jerked awake at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. She would have squealed, too, had not a warm palm immediately settled over her mouth.

Who? Where—

And that’s as far as she got before the memories came flooding back. She was in a hollowed-out log, in the middle of a Costa Rican rainforest, being hunted by the CIA with a man who had no qualms telling her that, while he thought she was hot-to-trot and he wouldn’t mind letting her polish his rocket—so to speak—he had absolutely no plans to start anything permanent with her because…and get this…he would
never—
that would be with a capital N, his tone had made that very obvious—fall in love with her.

When he’d blurted that out the night before, she’d sat in the dark struck completely mute. Because, really, what
did
one say to a declaration like that?
Ow
? And, yeah, it had hurt so badly she’d been unable to breathe for long seconds afterward.

But to admit as much to him would’ve only added to her humiliation, so she’d done the only thing she could think of. She’d pulled herself together, bolstered her tattered pride and said, “Well, okay then.” And immediately followed that up with, “Do you have anything to eat in that pack?”

Not that she’d been hungry, of course. Quite the contrary. The granola bar he’d handed her had gone down about as easy as a handful of woodchips dipped in habanero sauce, but she’d managed, by God. Because she’d been determined not to let him see how much he’d wounded her.

And in keeping with that line of thinking, this morning she pushed his hand away from her mouth and whispered in what she was proud to say was a completely firm and completely
non-
pride-shredded voice, “Holy shitburgers, I can’t believe I actually slept.”
Especially
not
with
you
stretched
out
beside
me, each one of your breaths echoing in the darkness and reminding me that, no matter what my fantasies, you’ll never be the man for me.

Yeah, she went ahead and left that last part out.

“It’s the adrenaline wearin’ off,” he murmured, and
his
voice was rock steady, too.

Well, goody. We’re both just hunky-dory after last night’s little Come-to-Jesus chat.

Great. Perfect…

Goddamnit!

She pushed into a sitting position, trying to beat back the humiliation that threatened to choke her even as she blinked owlishly in the dimness. No longer was the inside of the hollowed-out tree pitch black. Subtle light drifted through the small breaks in the dense foliage over the opening. And despite her having named her fear—and, in the process, found a way to, maybe not
beat
it per se, but at least mitigate it—the break in the inky blackness was a welcome reprieve.

Well, at least one thing seems to be going my way…

“We need to get movin’,” he declared, stuffing all the trash, the granola bar wrappers and empty pouches of antiseptic wipes, into his pack.

Vanessa highly suspected his actions had little to do with the fact that he was conscientious about leaving the jungle unspoiled and more to do with the fact that rule number one when trying to outfox a hunter was
don’t give him a place to start
. If for some reason the men gunning for them happened to stumble upon this log, Vanessa knew Rock didn’t want to leave any trace that they’d passed the night here.

Which was fine by her. She’d rather there not be any telltale reminders of this place left lying about either, reminders that
this
was the spot where she’d offered herself up, body and soul, and been soundly rejected.

A hot morsel of shame and indignation burned in her chest, but that was nothing compared to the city construction workers operating jackhammers inside her skull.

“I have a headache so big it makes the Sears Tower look like a domino,” she admitted, lifting a hand to her temple.

“It’s dehydration and heat exhaustion,” Rock said, shouldering into his pack and checking that the clips for his SIGs were loaded before slamming them back into the grips with his palms. The maneuver flexed the large, stylized skull tattoos with their crossed swords and the words
sea, air, and land
that were inked on each of his bulging biceps, and emphasized the barbed wire and thorny rose tattoos ringing his muscular forearms.

Grrrr. Why did he have to be so damned sexy?

I
mean, seriously?
He had a voice like an angel, a heaping helping of that oh-so-delicious Southern charm, a dangerous streak that was guaranteed to have a girl squirming in her seat,
and
a body like an Adonis? Not to mention that, while she smelled like she’d spent the night in wet clothes on the inside of a hollow log, he still managed to emit a…well, not necessarily a clean scent, but it was definitely a hot
manly
scent. Manly enough to have desire swirling through her belly and her toes curling inside her boots.

Frickin’ frackin’ shitballs! It’s just not fair!

“Well, don’t you just have the answer for everything this morning?” she griped then wished she could call the words back. One sure way to let him know that her whole
hey, I’m cool you just want to bone me and toss me aside
demeanor was all just a big fat act was to turn into Lady McBitchesAlot. “Sorry,” she added hurriedly, wincing and rubbing a thumb in the center of her forehead. “Headaches turn me into a total bear.”

“Take this,” Rock passed her the canteen. They’d emptied it last night—scratch that,
she’d
emptied it last night; it was the only way she’d been able to choke down the woodchips and habanero granola bar—but Rock must’ve already made a trip down to the river to refill it.

And it was good thing she
hadn’t
been sleeping like a baby with a whole group of CIA agents out to kill her or anything. Sheesh! She hadn’t even heard him leave, much less return.

Then again, she comforted herself with the knowledge that Rock
was
incredibly stealthy. Maybe not scare-the-holy-crap-out-of-you silent like Ghost, the Black Knights’ crackerjack sniper, but he could still hold his own against the best of them. And let’s admit it, she
wasn’t
the best of them.

Tilting the canteen to her lips, she hesitated when she remembered the number of untold microscopic organisms that bred in these jungle waters, most of them nasty enough to cause an otherwise healthy person to turn into a sweating, convulsing, shitting machine.

“Did you add iodine tablets to this?” she asked.

Rock slid her a look that questioned the validity of
both
her college degrees. “This isn’t my first rodeo,
chere
.” And, okay, so she wasn’t the only one who was cranky this morning. He was doing a fairly decent impression of
Lord
McBitchesAlot.

Raising her brows, she eyed him over the top of the cantina as she let the cool, slightly chemical-tasting water slip down her parched throat.

“Sorry,” he winced. “Playing hide-and-seek with two hit squads obviously makes
me
a bear.”

And…there was that.

Okay, so the truth of the matter was that she had much bigger things to worry about than her bruised pride and wounded ego. Number one being she was running from a group of operatives bent on putting a bullet in Rock’s brain…and hers, too, if last night’s shoot-out was any indication.

She guessed that’s what she got for consorting with a supposed rogue operator…

And she still believed in the
supposed
part, didn’t she?

Yes. Yes, I do.

Although, in the short time they’d been together, he’d made two cryptic remarks—
you
don’t know a damn thing about me,
and
what
makes
you
so
sure
my
name
can
be
cleared?
—that, admittedly, caused her to once again entertain a sliver, just a teensy, tiny, ever-so-little sliver of doubt.

And she
hated
that feeling. Hated looking at this man she’d grown to both respect and like—yes,
like
, even if he had shot her down like a duck hunter shoots a mallard, because at least he’d been honest, and a gal had to appreciate that—and wonder if maybe she’d been wrong about him. If maybe he
was
capable of cold-blooded—

“You ready?” he asked, and she raked in a deep, bracing breath.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” She searched his eyes, looking for something to let her know she was mistaken in harboring any doubts. But his expression was unreadable.

“Then let’s do it.” Even in the low light, she caught the flicker of chagrin that quickly passed over his face at his choice of words. And a little part of her, an
evil
part of her, was glad he was suffering at least
some
discomfort after last night’s discussion.

After
all, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander…and what is
with
all
the
water-foul references bouncing around inside my head this morning?
It gave whole new meaning to the expression bird-brained. Obviously Rock was right. She
was
suffering from heat exhaustion…

He pressed a finger to his lips, calling for silence—had her thoughts been that loud?—before quietly scooting down to the base of the log. She followed suit, crab-walking in the tight space until she had to stop to wait for him to push the foliage aside. He did so slowly, the barrels of his 9mms peeking through the green curtain first. After what seemed eons, he shoved the guns in his waistband and brushed the ferns and small shrubs aside before climbing out.

Vanessa was right on his heels. And even though the jungle canopy was dense and the sunlight filtering through weak, the brightness outside when compared to the interior of the log had her squinting and blinking. She raised her hand to shield her eyes just as a shadow moved in her peripheral vision.

She barely had time to turn before Rock burst into action, moving so quickly he was nothing but a blur. With a roundhouse kick, he booted the black-clad agent’s M4 machine gun out of his hands, dodging blows aimed for his head as he landed a few hard punches that sounded loud and obscene against the natural buzzing chatter of jungle life.

The agent responded with moves to rival Jet Li, but Rock somehow countered each one. Ducking, swaying, blocking…

For a moment, Vanessa was stunned, staring in slack-jawed horror. But she quickly regained her wits and raced around the grappling men toward the discarded weapon. Bending to snatch it off the ground, she ran through the steps of her weapons training…

One: slap the magazine to ensure it’s fully seated. Check. Two: pull the charging handle to the rear and watch to see a live round or expended cartridge eject. Check. Three: release the charging handle and tap the forward assist assembly to make sure the bolt closes. Check. Four: turn and fire.

But when she spun to aim the M4 at their would-be assassin, it was to find that her help was no longer needed. Because Rock had the guy in a choke hold, applying a buttload of pressure to the arm he’d wrenched behind the man’s back. The agent was up on his tiptoes, aiming ineffectual body blows at Rock with his free hand, but it appeared Rock barely felt them.

Vanessa’s heart thundered, the blood pounding in her ears, so she was equal parts stunned and impressed when she heard Rock say, in a remarkably calm tone, “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

Their assailant answered with a high-pitched grunt, his face turning red and his eyes bulging from their sockets.

“How long before your team arrives?” Rock asked, and when the man garbled, “Fuck you!” Rock bent the dude’s arm up and back even further.

Vanessa winced in sympathy as the agent’s face contorted with pain.

“F-fuck you!” the man bellowed again, a little louder.

“Sorry, but you’re not my type.” Rock released just enough pressure so the man stopped turning purple but not enough to give him a chance to escape or enough oxygen to launch an effective counterattack. It was sort of amazing how quickly and easily Rock had mitigated the threat. No muss, no fuss, no blood. Just one very pissed-off CIA agent. “And since you’re making a pretty good racket, and since I don’t hear any of your folks racin’ to the rescue, that must mean you’re all by your lonesome out here. If I had to guess, I’d say you’ve fanned out far enough that you’re all spread, what? Twenty, thirty minutes apart from one another? This is a big jungle, after all.
Non?
”

Something in the agent’s face must’ve clued Rock into the fact that he’d hit the nail on the head, because a knowing smile curved his lips before he said, “Now the way I see it,
mon
ami
, you got three options here. One, I can make sure you never shoot with this arm again—which will
certainly
put a damper on your career. Two, I can let my lady friend over there put a bullet in your leg that’ll guaran-damn-tee you don’t walk right for six months—which will
likely
put a damper on your career.” The agent’s bulging, bloodshot eyes rolled toward Vanessa. She raised a brow, indicating that,
yes
, she would have no trouble doing exactly what Rock said. “Or three, you can be a good boy and stop fighting so we can tie you up, real quick like.”

“You…you’re not gonna kill me?” the man panted, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead.

“Come on now. Why would I do that?” Rock frowned. “You’re not doin’ anything but what you’ve been ordered to do.”

Vanessa watched the agent’s gaze dart about. Then he looked up and back into Rock’s face, frantically searching his eyes. And he must’ve found what he was looking for, because he managed a jerky nod, saying, “Okay. Tie me up.”