Virtues (Base Branch Series Book 8) (5 page)

I
nterstate turned
to highway and quickly devolved to a narrow, pitted excuse for a road that still boasted a highway sign. Cara slammed the cup of coffee she’d polished off many miles and minutes ago into the console’s holder. She yanked the seat belt from her neck and glared at Tyler Grace. “Where are you taking me?”

“Anticipation is half the fun.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Then you haven't had the right ones.” He slid her a salacious casual glance and then took it away before she could berate him for it or even be certain it wasn’t just her imagination running amok.

Cara tossed herself against the seat like a child. The seat belt choked her for the offense. “Shit. Is this thing made for giants?” She grabbed the material and held it off her irritated skin.

The right front tire drifted off the edge of the road. Her brains bumped and lurched with the uneven ground. “What…” Her grip tightened on the seat belt, and her other hand joined in as the truck rolled to a stop on a steep hill.

Tyler unbuckled.

Cara’s brain didn’t scream as it should have. The hairs on the back of her neck neglected to stand on end. Her heart revved. That little spin of adrenaline was the extent of her reaction. Regardless, she lunged for the gun at her ankle.

“Well, that just proves it,” he drawled.

Cold hard metal greeted her palm. Her hand wrapped around the butt of her pistol, but his tone more than his words gave her pause. She kept her hold but looked across the cab. “Proves what?”

“That you like wrestling with me.” He drew his bottom lip into his mouth and pulled it out with a sweet smile.

“It proves I don't trust you.”

“Maybe. Maybe it proves you don't trust yourself. Because you know I won’t hurt you.” His elbow rested on the center console. The confines of his worn, gray T-shirt showcased his shoulders and the serrated edge of his obliques. He moved slowly and steadily, closing the space.

Cara’s throat constricted. She released the handle and planted her back against the door and cool window. His face hovered a foot and half away from hers, yet the proximity pulled heat to her cheeks. Other places too. His thickly corded forearm reached out past her head to a knob on the wall panel.

“I wish you’d said something forty minutes ago.” He adjusted the seat belt to the lowest setting. “Your neck is red.” His gaze stroked over the spot as surely as a caress.

Her hand flew to the light abrasion. “It’s fine.”

“Mmm.” Tyler withdrew back to his seat, buckled, and checked the rearview mirror before pulling onto the road.

Mmm. What the hell did that mean? It didn’t matter. Cara scrubbed a hand down her face and situated in her seat. The belt fit neatly between her breasts and over her shoulder. She should’ve thought of it. Better yet, she should have stuck to her no. Annoyed with herself as much as Tyler, she turned toward the window while they coasted over gradually rising and tapering hills.

Hues of yellow and pink tickled the horizon, giving life to the day and shape to the former darkness outside. Lush foothills reached toward the sky, one outdoing the other as they stretched north and east. As the sun rose, it colored the cotton-clouded horizon in shades of pink. It contrasted with the green grass and trees, while wooden fences outlined manmade boundaries for miles in every direction.

Minutes later, Tyler turned onto a gravel drive lined with large oaks. It wound over a small creek and split large fields speckled with horses. If he’d brought her horseback riding, she’d shoot him for certain. She didn’t have time for moony shit. Though she’d enjoyed the sport once upon a time.

Trees opened to a two-story white brick farmhouse wreathed with a garden and archway bursting with blooms. The drive split, offering a circular path in front of the ethereal home and a path around back. Gardens and grass sprawled for acres, creating the feel of an old English country estate. Tyler drove around the house and parked under a white pergola bowed with the weight of the greenery it hosted. He turned off the engine and hopped out of the truck that had taken well-placed foot and handholds for her to climb inside.

In front of her sat an understated stone patio, leading to a red back door. The vibrant color matched the large red barn 100 yards from the house. Her door opened, filling the cab with morning light. Gardenia blossoms scented the air that filtered in with it, overtaking the new car scent with nature. She filled her lungs.

“Heaven, isn’t it?” Tyler stood in the yawning gap between her and the ground and offered his hand.

Cara nipped her burgeoning smile. “I’m not getting out until you tell me what this place is. Do you live here?”

“Sometimes.” He shaded his eyes from the bright rays and looked up at her like, ‘What’s the big deal?’

“How the hell can you afford this place?” No way could he afford this on a Base Branch salary. The CIA hadn’t paid her enough to cover the driveway. No governmental agency would. Give us your blood, firstborn, your life. Oh, here’s a pittance for your trouble. But we pay leaders—the talking heads—enough to buy small countries. Bureaucracy at its finest.

“I didn’t say I owned it.” His smile caught the rays and blinded her.

“You haven’t said much of anything.”

Again, he offered his hand and that disarming, lopsided grin. Cara glared. A curl of dark hair peeked out the collar of his shirt at the base of his neck between the carved parameter of his pectorals.

“It belongs to the Sanfords, my parents’ business partners and good friends.”

Oh, God. She lusted over a guy who lived with his parents’ friends. Wasn’t that worse than living with his parents?

Cara jerked her gaze to his. “What business are your parents into?”

“Cattle. The Sanfords have the best horses.”

“Where are they?”

“In the pasture. You didn’t see them in the field on the way in?” Again with the winking.

“The Sanfords, smartass.”

“Somewhere in the Mediterranean. They travel a lot. So do I. It helps them to have someone to oversee their business while they’re gone, and it gives me a break from…” His gaze slid to the side and then back. “Well, you know.”

She did—too well. “Why are we here?”

“Get out and find out.” He took a step back, throwing down the gauntlet.

Never one to back away from a challenge, Cara slid off the seat. It was a long way to the ground, and she landed in a crouch. When she stood, Tyler’s chest was too close. “You know this thing is hell on gas and the environment. It’s not too kind to knees either.” Jesus. She sounded so old. And she was too old to do this flirty thing.
Stick to business, Lee.

He hitched his scrawled silver belt buckle. His very large belt buckle. “Yep, it is. But it hauls horse flesh a mite better than a Prius.”

This guy kept her off balance, a shitty thing while she navigated a tightrope with her daughter in one hand and her adopted son in the other. Cara cleared her throat and ducked around Tyler. She hurried across the stone path toward the house but didn’t know where to go. Her steps faltered a few feet from a cast iron fire pit. “Where to?”

“The barn.”

“I didn’t come out of hiding to pet a horse.”

The massive structure loomed larger than any barn she’d ever been inside. Not that she’d been inside many. She changed course and rushed toward it, ready to have this surprise unveiled. He caught up and matched her hurried steps easily.

“How about a bull?” His brows waggled.

Before she could stop herself, she found his gaze and rolled her eyes, feeding his mischief. A deep boom of laughter radiated from his drum chest and thick throat. The honest smile tugged at his cheeks, forming lines around his squinted eyes. The muscles in his neck striated, and his face lifted.

Cara’s heartbeat wobbled at the rich sound. Shit. She practically sprinted to the barn and levered one end of the large post barring the massive double doors.

“Psst.”

She ignored him, worked her hands toward the middle and lifting the other side from the latch…just not quite enough.

“Cara Lee.” He said her name like an admonishment. Like he could order her around. Her back stiffened. No, sir. She wasn’t any man’s possession. No man would ever again order her around.

Muscles bunched and feet planted, Cara heaved the board out of both latches and across the stretch of gravel in front of the barn. Her chest puffed. She turned to face Tyler.

That damn smirk said it all. The smirk and the cool way he propped his wrist on the top of the small open door cut out of the far corner of the barn.

“Mother fuck.” Her scowl shifted between him and the length of wood laid like a fallen soldier on the grass.

“Go ahead. I’ll wait.” One stitched boot crossed over the other, point down. “It was impressive.” The thumb on his free hand hooked into the front loop of his jeans.

The aroma of flower petals mixed with manure filled and exited her lungs in rapid succession. Her fingers balled, and she let them. She wanted to throttle him, but she’d learned her lesson the first time. With no other options besides shooting him, she stomped to the board and used her exacerbation to lift it and reposition it in the latches.

Dirt clung to her palms, so she rubbed them together. Specks of sand rolled from one spot to another on her damp skin without falling off. No way was she wiping them on her gray sleeveless top. Instead, she opted for the back of her high-waisted jeans. Shit, again. Their outfits almost matched, save for the hick factor.

Cara pulled a long, calming breath and headed for the small, easy door.

“I didn’t figure you as one for flowers or chocolates. So…” He unhooked his thumb from the loop and gestured toward the interior.

Hesitantly, she walked through the opening into the abyss. Pitch darkness clung to every corner of the building, but in the center, a spotlight bathed Nate Harlow’s naked form. His arms stretched over his head, bound by a knotted rope and secured to the beam running the length of the barn. Sweat slicked his skin and matted his hair to his head.

Cara looked at Tyler. This guy kept the surprises coming.

“He’s all yours.” He nodded at Nate. “Just remember what I said earlier.”

T
yler pulled
the door closed behind him, shrouding the corner in darkness.

The rope squeaked against the rafter with each jerk of Harlow’s head. He bobbed it left and right, trying futilely to see what monster stalked him in a wide circle.

Cara shed her irritation with him and slipped into her new role of tormentor as easily as he imagined she’d slip out of the sexy, conservative number she wore and into a pretty negligee. Not for him, of course. She held him at arm’s length and wished her arms were longer. That was fine. He affected her. He’d started the parry as a means of distraction. Now? The more he touched her, the more he wanted to touch her.

Not a great move. Especially with a woman of Cara Lee’s caliber.

A few feet per orbit, she neared, taunting the man.

Harlow set his jaw and wrinkled his forehead, acting hard. It hadn’t taken Tyler much effort to overtake him, and Harlow had been unconscious when he’d left him to retrieve Cara. He’d come to in a spotlight, surrounded by darkness.

She stepped into the pouring light wearing a devilish version of the smirk he’d seen on her lips a few times before.

Harlow bit his lips. Desperate measures to keep his shit together. Tyler propped a hip on a stacked heap of square bales and folded his arms over his middle. Spiky heels led Cara’s prowl. Each strike of the point to the concrete isle elicited an involuntary quiver in Harlow’s middle. His stiff jaw slacked.

After one close circle, Cara stopped in front of Harlow and turned the side of her face to Tyler. “If I’d known you had him, I'd have brought my tools.” She waved a hand in the air. “No matter. We’re in a barn with plenty of useful devices for the job.”

“Popov will kill you for this.” Harlow bared his teeth and flexed the heavy muscles covering his short skeleton.

Cara giggled. The sound skated up Tyler’s spine, and he wasn’t the one at her mercy. “It’s cute you think she gave a shit about you. Really, it is.” She strolled off the concrete. Her heels sank into the mixture of hay, dried manure, pine bedding, and dirt.

Dusty saddles, bridles, and ropes occupied one-half of the wall adjacent to the makeshift torture chamber. The other half was reserved for farming tools. Axes, spades, rakes, machetes, and pitchforks. Several hollowed wood eyes in the wall added to the barn’s eerie feel. Cara grabbed the longest pitchfork, the one with six closely spaced tines.

“It’s even cuter,” she said, returning to her prey, “that you think she could get the upper hand. Especially since she’s at the bottom of the Potomac.”

“Fucking bitch.” Rage colored Harlow’s cheeks.

Tyler hadn’t been the only one busy last night. If it was true. The solid lump in his stomach said this lady didn’t bluff.

Cara strolled forward into Harlow’s strike zone. The lump in his belly coated with lead, and he dug his heels into the ground to keep from intervening. She knew what she was doing.

“At the bottom of the Potomac…where I put her.” Her eyes glinted with inciting mischief.

Harlow wrapped his hands around the rope above his arms. His legs snapped into the air. One calf hooked the back of Cara’s neck. The other shin smashed the front of her throat, compressing her windpipe.

A bale flew off the stack. Tyler reached the outer halo of light in a blink. That was when he saw her hand in a flat palm, facing him, telling him to stop.

Right.

A wrapped breath wheezed from her compressed throat. He ground his heels into the dirt to stay put.

Another rasp filled the darkness. “Let’s see how long you can hold up all those bulky muscles.”

“Longer than you can hold your breath.”

Cara wedged the pitchfork between Harlow’s nuts and the concrete, fork up. “If I can breathe enough to talk, I can hang…”

The muscles in Harlow’s legs contracted.

“…all day.” Her reedy voice contradicted the statement. Then again, with those tines pressed against his sack, Harlow’s skin collected moisture like a leaf in the rainforest.

Each tick of the hands on Tyler’s watch offended him while Cara’s neck remained trapped. Thirty seconds. Sixty. Seventy. A bead of sweat rolled down Tyler’s arm.

The rope hanging from the rafters lurched and vibrated. Harlow’s muscles twitched, causing the sway. Cara chuckled. The twitches turned to convulsions. Collected sweat poured off his body. Large drops landed on the tips of Cara’s shoes and arms.

“I give. I give.” Harlow released her throat and hinged his legs on her back, desperate to keep himself off the tines. “Get this thing off me!”

Cara’s lips moved, but no sound followed. She coughed, swallowed, and tried again. “Let me do it my way.”

She wasn’t looking at him, but Tyler knew she was talking to him. He also knew exactly what she wanted permission to do. His insides clenched. An affirmative and she’d slit Nate’s throat. Even a hint of hesitation and she’d eliminate the threat.

“What way?” Nate screeched.

“No. We already talked about this.”

“Fine. I need you to make me a promise, Nate.”

“What?” He screamed the word.

“No grudges. No vendettas. Nothing involving me and especially my daughter.”

“Fine! Fine!” His head shook. Sweat slung.

“I need better than fine.”

“I won’t bother you, either of you.” His voice raised with each syllable.

“Ever,” Cara clarified.

“Not ever.” Harlow agreed to a plea.

“If you do…” Cara grabbed the pitchfork’s handle and gave it a tug. Harlow howled. “You’ll wish I’d ended you today.”

“I hear you.” Harlow’s lips etched in pain. “Now, move the damn thing, please.”

“Nice talk, Nate. I never want to see you or your sweaty balls ever again.”

Cara kicked the bottom of the wooden handle, releasing Harlow from his nutcracker. His legs slipped off the side of Cara’s shoulders and landed on the concrete with a slap. Done with him, Cara collected the pitchfork, sauntered to the wall, and replaced her tool.

Tyler walked around the shadows and approached the man from the back. He lifted the black bag from the ground where he’d left it and roped Harlow with the fabric. The captive’s soaked head bobbed left and right, leaving dark pools of moisture on the bag.

“When can I leave?”

After crafting a knot that ensured the bastard wouldn't see his face, he strode toward the door. Cara met him at the small opening and ducked through it without a backward glance at Nate Harlow.

“You hungry?” He closed the door, locked it, and then placed a hand on the small of her back.

“I need to get back to the city.” Her voice sounded like she’d eaten glass for breakfast.

She needed some water and some honey, but he didn’t say it. “Big plans for the day?”

“I can skip penance, since you’re a saint and wouldn’t let me sin. I won’t need a shower, either, since I have not even a speck of blood on my hands.”

“Today,” he amended.

She shrugged and headed for his truck. “I need to find the tracker you put on me, and then, if your boss was serious—”

“He was.”

“I’m taking my daughter house shopping.”

“Give me just a second and we’ll head out.”

Tyler unlocked the house, dipped into the kitchen, and grabbed some bottled waters from the fridge and a honey throat lozenge Mrs. Sanford kept in a cabinet above the sink. By the time he returned to the truck, Cara sat strapped into the passenger seat pinning her lopsided bun and looking more regal than anything Talulah had ever hauled. He hopped in, laid his offerings on the center console, and pulled down the beautiful drive before the sun crested the tree-covered mountains.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t know exactly what she thanked him for, but she twisted a top off one of the water bottles and guzzled half in three long pulls. The back of her hand doubled as a napkin after she polished off the rest. Ladylike with a twist. He opened one of the other bottles and took a few swigs.

“I haven't had that much fun with a naked man in a long time.” She sighed.

Water revolted, working its way up Tyler’s nose and out his mouth. It stung. He sputtered and hacked. “If that’s not an incentive to keep my clothes on, I don’t know what is.”

Her head shook and her lips folded around the bite of her teeth in an effort not to smile.

“What? You don’t want me to keep my clothes on?” he asked, recapping his bottle and setting it in the door pocket.

Thin lips escaped and spread into a shallow grin. “When are you going to take him back?”

“Sly subject change.” Tyler pulled onto the skinny highway. “I’m not.”

“What about your no kill speech?” Her mouth formed a pout.

“I’m just sending him in the opposite direction of your daughter with a tracker that will let me know if he ever breaks our deal.”

“I didn’t need you to find him for me.”

Tyler wondered how long it would take such an independent woman to get her back up about a little assistance. One mile. He’d have bet on less. His grip doubled on the steering wheel, anticipating her wrath. “I know you didn’t. It was a peace offering.”

“Like flowers or chocolates?” When he ventured a glance in her direction, one brow curved in an artistic arch.

“Conventional.” He shrugged. “It’s boring.”

She gave a slight nod, and then the dam broke on her smile. This wasn’t sinister like the one he’d seen in the barn. It wasn’t sarcastic or vindictive like the ones she’d offered him so many times in the last twenty hours. It wasn’t motherly and endearing like the ones she’d aimed at Rin and Luck.

Severe cheeks formed rounds as tight as racquetballs. Deep grooves curved on either side of her mouth, which stretched wide, revealing rows of straight white teeth—save for that crooked little incisor. Elusive and unadulterated joy revealed a dim, beautiful light at Cara’s center.

It warmed him from the inside out.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

His inner warmth faltered. In a few days, she wouldn’t be thanking him.