Touch of Betrayal, A (24 page)

The guys filed out, but Annie caught my wrist. “See me before you leave. I want to attach a bug to your phone.”

A knot of fear clenched in my stomach. “We’re only going to McDonalds for a shake.”

She shook her head. “Now that I know who’s tracking Mitch, that isn’t good enough. Adam or Pierce will stay invisible, but within shouting distance. Watch your back.”

TWENTY-FOUR

The chocolate shakes at McDonalds
were tasty and the evening
uneventful—other than facing my husband, acting as though our married life was flowing along with happy-ever-after precision, and sharing ideas about what I wanted in
our
Hawaiian home.

The house was quiet when we returned. I eyed Mitch, and held up my cell. “Annie’s been listening to the evening’s entertainment, so probably didn’t need to meet us at the door for a recap.”

Mitch nodded, quiet. “I’m sorry, Everly. Even though all this started with Loyria Gray, I know I’ve added to the problem, made it more complicated.”

I couldn’t tell him it was all right, because it wasn’t. “You’re going to help me fix it, and that’s the best any of us can do at this point. Let’s get some rest, and tackle strategy tomorrow.”

“Right,” Mitch said, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it with water. “I expected Pierce and Adam to be waiting for us. Want some water?”

I ambled to the refrigerator. “No, thanks. I’ll grab a bottle from here. I don’t want to take a chance on spilling an open glass all over Annie’s bamboo floor.” I grabbed one of the smaller water bottles and turned to face Mitch. “I’ve been a restless sleeper since I’ve been here. You know, it’s really strange the guys aren’t here, hunkered down, pencils flying over notebooks while they work on backup plans for tomorrow. I wonder if…surely they didn’t go off to do something tonight.”

Mitch shrugged. “Both the truck and Jeep were outside.”

“Yeah, but they’re sneaky. Especially Pierce. And they didn’t argue when I claimed this op as mine.” I glanced at the baby monitor. “Look, Annie’s sleeping in Maddie’s room. Can’t be much going on, or she’d be in her secret room monitoring stuff.”

I yawned, big and unladylike. “How about you get your stuff from my bathroom, and bunk in the television room at the end of the hallway? You’ll be within yelling distance of my room, and—”

“Still give you some space,” he said, finishing my sentence.

“Yeah. Breathing space. Maybe I’ll meditate.”

He gave me a sloppy hug and made for the bedroom. I stood there, the night settling around me. For a long time I was lost in memories of what Mitch and I once had, but the pain of betrayal hadn’t diminished in the last twenty-four hours. How could it have all been a lie? Even though Mitch had confused love with protection, there had been a wonderful sense of comfort in our relationship, of belonging. And I missed it.

I went back to the refrigerator, snagged the bottle of Moscato, and poured a glass. It would go well with a long soak in the tub, and maybe I’d have a prayer of falling asleep without dreaming about gang warfare, or debating if I should have let Mitch share my room. Life was a pain in the ass when every available choice had crappy consequences.

Morning sunlight warmed Annie’s living room
when I opened the door for Whitney, stepping back to usher her inside. She filled the entryway, towering over my five-sixish frame. “Thanks for driving to this side of the island to help me. I know traffic’s a bear,” I said, stretching to my full height, my fingers tightening around Annie’s Kershaw blade. I bounced on tiptoes for a second, and then rolled my shoulders back. This woman radiated warrior genes. I wanted some, planned to earn them.

“Happy to help one of Detective Stone’s friends.” She held up her hand, the one holding three knife sheaths. “Ready to work? And I see you’re contributing to our arsenal.”

A shiver of anticipation tickled my nape. Definitely ready. “Yep, a gift from Annie. Let’s go through the kitchen so I can introduce you to Adam’s sister and his niece.”

Annie was sitting in the playpen with Maddie, and they both looked up when we entered the kitchen. Annie stood, stepped over the railing, and faced Whitney.

Female predators.

I’d been confined in enough small spaces with Pierce, Adam, and Mitch to recognize testosterone-laden air, but those situations had been nothing compared to the levels of estrogen emanating from these two warrior women.

Damn, but I was going to work my butt off until they called me sister.

Swallowing my awe, I managed to eke out some words. “Annie, this is Detective Whitney Boulay of the HPD. Whitney, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Annie Stone Martin, Adam’s sister and retired-d…” I stuttered to a stop. Super-spy probably wasn’t a good word choice.

Whitney offered her hand. “Law enforcement. It’s bloody clear you’ve served your time, Martin.”

“Same goes, Boulay. Glad you’re going to help Everly.” She bent to pick Maddie up. “I’ve been out of the business for more than a year now. This is my daughter, Madigan.”

Oddly, the estrogen level in the room spiked. I narrowed my gaze on Maddie. What was going on behind those innocent eyes? She reached for Whitney, and Annie’s forehead wrinkled. “Maddie doesn’t usually go to strangers.”

Whitney blinked, and then offered the bundle of sheathed knives to Annie. “Trade you. Don’t want to introduce myself to your daughter with a handful of weapons.”

Annie shared a silent communication with Maddie, then handed her over. “Sure. It’s been a while since I’ve held a superior knife.”

That was a blatant lie. Annie kept her skills in top form, and I had no doubt she’d been to the firing range, and sparred with both Adam and Sean within the last week. Maybe even with Pierce. I bit my tongue. Could be I was learning when to keep my mouth shut.

I stood back and watched as Annie looked over each of the knives, testing them for who knew what, while Whitney shared baby-cooing noises with Maddie. I’d pocketed my phone before I left the bedroom, and now slipped my hand around it, thinking about taking a picture. One glance from Annie and I thought better of it. Apparently, she didn’t want it on record that she looked euphoric when she handled knives. I only hoped that by the end of my session with Whitney, I’d have a similar expression instead of looking horror-struck.

Whitney handed Maddie back to her mom. “Time to work. Back yard?”

I nodded.

Annie shook her head. “Basement. There’s a room…follow me.”

Shock triggered a wave of heat and hurt. Another hidden room? My stomach roiled with confusion. Why hadn’t Annie shared
all
of her house with me? I could sort of understand about the security control room, because that was ingrained from living a covert life. But a sparring area?

She didn’t look at me as she led the way down the hall to a bookcase, eased a book from a shelf, and typed a code on a keypad. The bookcase slid into a wall pocket.

My stomach did another flip-flop. Intrigue at its worst. “That is so cliché.” Yep, my inner bitch was alive and well.

Annie grinned, holding my gaze. “Exactly. So cliché as to be unnoticeable. That was the plan.”

“Damn good plan,” Whitney said, heading down the stairs.

I hesitated. Training outside in broad daylight was one thing, locked in a secret room with Whitney Boulay? Something else altogether.

Annie touched my shoulder. “It’s a safe place. I’ll take Maddie upstairs so we can monitor your practice session. If Whitney leaves anything out, I’ll fill in the gaps after she leaves. This is your new life, El, and there’s no way I’d allow you to train outside in plain view of any aircraft flying overhead.

Well, damn. “That’s beyond cautious. It’s—”

“Paranoid.” She finished my sentence. “A good thing to be if you want to stay alive. This isn’t a simple homicide-slash-abduction like it was with Mitch’s friend.”

My stomach clenched. “Yeah, I get that. And it’s more complex than facing down a psychotic woman with a fondness for blowing up buildings. But I’ve been dealing with the fallout from my mother’s toxic formula for a while now.”

Annie shook her head. “Yes, but not like this. You have trained, skilled people chasing you who want to rape your mind. And I can’t be there to cover your back. Not like I could before Madigan.”

“Hey,” Whitney called from downstairs. “This is a great room, except I’m missing a sparring partner and time is short.”

“Be right there,” I yelled, and then turned back to Annie.

Love shone behind her eyes and a hefty dose of worry marked the lines around her mouth. I wrapped my arms around her and Maddie in a group hug. “Love you, too.”

I hustled downstairs, the bookcase silently sliding closed behind me.

The staircase opened to a large room, half the floor covered in mats, the other half wood. There were no windows, but the room was brightly alive with overhead fluorescent lights. Weapons of all kinds lined the back wall, holding my attention and stealing my breath.

Whitney pointed to a row of cabinets along one side of the room. “Hand guns, rifles, assault weapons, and knives,” she said, flicking her finger at each one as she named them. “I’m a bit jealous.”

Some of the tension eased from my shoulders. “Yeah, Annie’s…prepared.”

Whitney motioned me to a table at the near end of the room. “I brought three knives with me, and I’d rather use them than raid Martin’s arsenal.” She waved toward a mounted wall display. “You get used to the feel, the balance of a knife. I always work with a new weapon for a while before I depend on it to defend myself. At the end of our practice you can swap out for the Kershaw to see how you like it.”

“I know nothing about this, so whatever you say goes.” I set Annie’s knife on the table and put up my ESP shields before I touched the red plastic knife closest to me. “What’s this?”

Whitney smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Training knife. I’d rather you didn’t cut me right off.”

I sucked in a sputtering breath. “I’m
not
going to cut you.”

“You might. Before we’re done, you’re going to have time with both the Benchmade 9101 and the Smith and Wesson boot knife. The Benchmade is only available to law enforcement and the military. The S and W is used by the FBI Hostage Rescue Team.”

“Maybe this is a bad idea. I’m only going to learn enough in a few hours to hurt one of us, and I’m good with a gun.”

Whitney nodded. “True. A gun gives you the advantage of distance and cover. What happens if your attacker gets control of your gun, but you still have the S and W in your ankle sheath?”

She had a point. “Okay. How do you want to do this?”

Two seconds later I was on the floor, Whitney holding the training knife at my neck. Stiff with fear, my heart beating hard in my throat, I gulped down the urge to upchuck and glared at her.

She backed off. “Okay, now let’s go through the steps, and then you can practice that move on me. The proper knife grip is diagonally across the palm.”

I practiced my grip while I listened.

“People tend to protect the throat and stomach because they’re the most vulnerable psychologically. A thrust at the hollow of the neck, right below the Adam’s apple is a good choice if you have a clear shot, as are slashes on either side of the neck. You have to hit the jugular with those. The heart is an instant kill, but a difficult hit because of the ribs. The stomach offers a large target, but death is slower. The kidneys are a good choice from the back. You won’t have time to think if you’re being attacked, so we’ll go over these scenarios, and practice until they’re automatic for you.”

An hour later, I was drenched in sweat, grooving with an adrenaline high, and had become close friends with the red plastic knife.

“Grateful for my years of martial arts training, I am.” It was a poor imitation of Yoda, but Whitney grinned.

Two hours later I had a bloody cut on my left arm, discovered muscles in my right arm I never knew I had, and hated the Benchmark with a nauseating revulsion.

Whitney wasn’t even breathing hard.

Three hours and a liter of water later, the Kershaw was my friend, exhaustion had weakened every muscle I owned, and Whitney was gonna have to pry the Smith and Wesson boot knife out of my cold, dead hand. It. Was. Mine.

TWENTY-FIVE

Annie called down from the kitchen,
letting us know our three-hour sparring time was up. Whitney took one look at me, a huge grin on her face. “So, you’re keeping the Smith and Wesson?”

The scent of drying sweat drifted to my nose and my cheeks heated—but my grip on the boot knife didn’t loosen. “I like it.”

“Consider it a gift, with a blessing from me for wise use and peaceful results.”

“Thanks. Really, thanks.” I relaxed my hold on the knife, and slipped it into its sheath.

Annie’s voice rolled down the stairs again. “The guys are here for our meeting, Whitney.”

“What meeting?” I hollered, jogging up the stairs.

Whitney was right on my heels, barging into the testosterone-filled kitchen a few seconds behind me. “They’re bringing me up to speed on this morning’s session with the HPD Gang Task Force.”