If Looks Could Chill, page 32
“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t need your protection. I want to help catch these terrorists!”
“You are helping. Right where you are.”
She huffed out a breath. “Fine. Whatever.” It was like arguing with a brick wall. Maybe she’d have better luck with Quinn when he got here. He was team leader, after all.
In the background she heard a subtle clearing of throats. Ah, hell. She’d forgotten they had an audience.
“And in the future, please observe comm protocols,” he scolded mildly. “Over.”
She counted to ten as her favorite financial whiz enthusiastically plugged her appearance at Maravich Center on the TV monitor. “Yes, sir,” Tara answered. “Over and out.” With that, she ripped off the headset and set it on the console . . . so she wouldn’t fling it onto the floor and do a flamenco on the damn thing.
She turned to see Rand regarding her wryly. She ground her teeth. “Is he always this much of a male chauvinist bastard?”
Rand nodded. “Oh, yeah. Growing up with five sisters will do that to a man.”
“Yeah, well, I am not his freaking sister,” she ground out.
“No. It’s far worse than that,” Rand observed philosophically. “You’re the woman he’s in love with.”
TWENTY-NINE
BOBBY Lee awoke to the loud ringing of his cell phone.
And the certain knowledge that life as he knew it had changed. Irrevocably.
Darcy Zimmerman was in love with him.
If that didn’t beat all.
He grabbed the buzzing phone. “Talk to me.”
“This is STORM Alpha Juliet. Tango Five’s contained and we’ve got a bead on Tango One,” said a female voice that sounded suspiciously like Marc’s little state trooper. “What’s your twenty?”
He rattled off the name of the motel and its location from a brochure next to the phone.
“Helo’s on the way. Be ready in fifteen. I assume I don’t have to call Zulu?”
“She’s right here.”
He hung up the receiver and turned to wake Zimmie—Darcy. The woman who loved him. Her eyes were already fluttering open. His heart fluttered right along with them.
“Hey,” he said softly and bent to give her a lingering kiss.
“Hey, yourself,” she murmured sleepily. “What’s up?”
Good question. What was up with him?
He wasn’t sure exactly how this love thing would play out, but he knew something big had to give, one way or another. Her heart. His lifestyle. His lifelong insistence on complete freedom from entanglements. The way she’d looked at him last night as they made love . . .
“It’s time to get going. They’ve found Tawhid and are sending the helo.”
The hell of it was, the idea of his life taking a radical left turn into such unknown territory didn’t even scare him.
“You okay?” she asked, scanning the look on his face with a shade of concern.
“Oh, yeah,” he said.
In fact, he felt pretty damn good.
Well. Especially now. After a couple hours of power sex, both of them were replete and numb with pleasure. At least he was. And judging by the smile on her face, Darcy was, too.
She tugged on the ropes still looped around her wrists. “Then I guess you’d better untie me.”
Last night he’d been too stunned to react to her obviously chagrined declaration of love, other than purely physically. After a moment of frozen shock, he’d simply taken her. Hard and fast. Again. And then his inner machismo had reared up. He’d felt compelled to push it, to see how far he could take her grudging submission . . .
Now he gently pushed a lock of fallen hair off her face. And carefully drew the covers down so he could see her gorgeous naked body.
Fifteen minutes . . . He really did have to undo her bonds. But damn, he liked having her under his complete control. It didn’t happen all that often, so he doubly enjoyed taking full advantage when it did.
He stroked a hand over her body. “No hurry. We’ve got a few minutes.”
“Quinn . . .”
“Hmm?”
Not that she couldn’t get out of these ropes if she really wanted to. The woman was a Zen master when it came to martial arts . . . and escaping tight places. Hell, he remembered one time they’d been sent down to rescue the wife of a Colombian judge, whom drug dealers were holding for extortion. He and Zimmie had been discovered and captured, and were just waiting for the head honcho to come out any minute to the barn and summarily execute them. Bobby Lee’d been saying his final prayers when she somehow slipped free of the leg irons they were in, crawled through some disgusting sewer trap to escape the stronghold, and had brought in the cavalry in the guise of their backup team to rescue him and the judge’s wife, saving the mission as well as his hide.
That night he’d tied Zimmie up and made her show him how she’d done it. Well, naturally one thing had led to another, and pretty soon he’d been too distracted to get out of the restraints she’d put him in, in return.
Filling his senses with her now, he brushed his knuckles over her hips, remembering that heated night. It was the first time they’d made love with one of them tied up. Though truthfully, it tended to be Bobby Lee bound to the headboard. Hell, fine by him. It took a real man, secure in his sexuality, to allow himself to be put in such a position. Bobby Lee had no problems in that department. Aw, let’s see . . . lie on his back and let a beautiful woman pleasure him until he was limp from spent passion? Now, there’s a tough one. Even for a man who preferred to be in charge, that was a no-brainer.
It was harder for Zimmie to let herself go like that—to put herself so completely in someone else’s hands. He’d often wondered what it was in her background that drove her to maintain such impenetrable walls around her vulnerability. But he’d never asked. Wasn’t the place of a twice-a-year, no-commitment lover.
But now . . . now that she loved him . . .
Da-amn.
What the hell was he going to do about that?
Unable to resist, he canted his body over her and tongued one peaked nipple, tasting her. So good.
“Mmm,” she moaned, stretching in a graceful bow. He closed his mouth over her and gently sucked; she gasped softly, opening her eyes, and tried to lower her arms but was stopped by the restraints.
He cupped her other breast and thumbed its nipple as he suckled her. “Quinn,” she repeated breathlessly, making him smile. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”
“I really think,” he said, licking around the puckered areola, “you have to start calling me Bobby Lee, now that you’re in love with me.”
Her next moan was tangled with a shade of distress. “You are such an ass. Bobby Lee, we need to move. The helo—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he said with a half grin and reluctantly reached up to release her wrists.
Immediately, she rolled off the bed and headed for the bathroom. He sighed and went to join her.
“Besides, I never said that,” she declared, busying herself.
“Yeah, you did,” he refuted, unwilling to let her pretend it didn’t happen.
“Then I didn’t mean it,” she insisted.
Uh-huh. “Don’t even try, sugar.”
For several minutes she was silent as they got ready, her face a careful mask. Then, suddenly, she pressed her palms flat against the sink and bent her head down, dropping her gaze from the mirror.
“Oh, God. I’m so sorry,” she said in a thick whisper, squeezing her eyes shut. “I didn’t mean to do this to you.”
Bobby Lee moved behind her, put his arms around her. “Why? I’m not sorry. I’m flattered. I’m honored. I’m . . . maybe even having similar feelings for you.”
Her eyes sprang open and she looked at his mirrored reflection in stunned mistrust. “What?”
Whoa, there. “Did I say that aloud?”
“Very funny.” She swallowed, turned stiffly in his arms, trying to escape. “Let me go. The helo will be here any minute.”
“It can wait.”
“Quinn—”
“Call me Bobby Lee, and say it sweet, now.”
“Bobby Lee, I swear I’ll—”
He sighed dramatically and let her slip away, out of the bathroom, to quickly gather her things into her duffel.
He joined her. “Damn, girl. You could at least try to make it easy on a man.”
“Oh? Because you’ve made it so easy on me?” She zipped up her bag and marched to the door, flinging it open. The dawn sun was struggling to break above the horizon, shedding just enough light to illuminate her unhappy features.
Suddenly, he understood. He grabbed her hand before she could stride off. “Aw, baby, is that what this whole breakup thing has been about? Because you were afraid to tell me you love me?”
“No,” she ground out. Still avoiding his eyes as he pulled the door shut behind them.
He didn’t believe her. “Then what?”
She was mute for several heartbeats. “I don’t want to be in love. Not with anyone. Especially not with you.”
Ouch. “Now, baby, that’s just plain hurtful.”
She actually snorted.
“Okay, yeah,” he allowed, “I’ll admit that at one time—all right, maybe up until fairly recently . . . like maybe yesterday—I might not exactly have warmed to the idea. But now . . .”
He turned her face toward him and her big green eyes regarded him uncertainly, warily. Now or never. He had to say it. Tell her how he felt. But his words and feelings got all jumbled up in his chest and throat, and he couldn’t utter a sound other than a choked cough.
The sound of a chopper welled up in the taut silence.
Those beautiful eyes took on such a forlorn cast, his heart just about broke. “You don’t have to say anything,” she said, yanking herself away from him and starting toward the back of the parking lot. “Really. It’s okay.”
“No, you don’t understand—” he croaked, chasing after her as she headed for the helo that was landing in an open field behind the motel.
“I do. Under all that uncompromising”—she seared him with a look—“maleness, you’re a decent man, Quinn. You only said . . . implied . . . what you did so I wouldn’t feel so much like a fool.”
Double ouch. He tried to stay objective, but did a lousy job. Shouldering past, he vaulted up into the bird and extended a helping hand back down to her. “You feel like a fool for loving me?”
Her eyes went all mushy as she accepted his hand. “No.” They took seats next to each other and buckled up. “Not because it’s you, but because I should have known better than to let myself fall in love at all.”
He pursed his lips and nodded as the helo lifted off. That he got.
She handed him a headset, but he didn’t put it on. Laying a hand over her set, he shook his head. He didn’t want others listening to their conversation.
He had to come clean. Somehow spit it out. He’d never been one to beat around the bush or prevaricate when it came to decisions before. The watchword of a spec operator was flexibility, adapting to changing conditions, altering strategy to reach the desired endgame. He could see plainly if he wanted to keep Darcy—and he did, badly—he’d have to meet her at least partway.
“You know”—he leaned over and spoke loudly, so she could hear him above the whop-whop-whop of the rotors—“a funny thing happened to me yesterday.”
She gave an inaudible groan, covering her face with her hands. “Why don’t we just skip the humiliation, and—”
“No, hear me out, baby.” He leaned in closer. “You know, yesterday I was so damn angry with you I couldn’t concentrate on anything. All I could think of was you. Wondering what I’d done to make you change your mind about me. Hell, I was so compromised I knew if I didn’t straighten up, I’d be a danger to the mission. So I convinced myself to go along with your ridiculous edict to break up, thinking that would help. Told myself that mixing sex with an op was the real problem.” Not that it had ever been before . . . Talk about rationalization.
She rolled her head on the backrest to watch him guardedly. “That’s funny?”
“No.” He tucked a strand of hair lovingly behind her ear. “What’s funny is, it didn’t help. When you flirted with those DHS guys, I almost lost it. I was jealous as hell, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.” The corner of his lip twisted. “Now, anyway.”
A zillion emotions passed through her eyes. “Quinn, what exactly are you saying?”
He eased out a long breath and leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m saying maybe it’s time to take our relationship to the next level.”
Her mouth dropped open and she pulled back, staring at him in blunt disbelief. Waiting for the punch line? He cringed inwardly.
“Jesus,” he blurted out, suddenly as unsure as he’d ever been in his life. “Are you going to make me spell it out?”
“Uh, yeah?” She still looked like she doubted him. Couldn’t trust that this was really happening.
Had he done that to her? Treated her so badly in the past as to make her this suspicious?
Time to make amends.
He reached for both of her hands. “It took almost losing you to make me realize how much I want you in my life, sugar. I never thought I’d say this to any woman, but . . . I want you, Darcy Zimmerman. You and only you. Can we come to some kind of arrangement, you and me?”
She blinked. Puffed out a laugh. Pulled her hands away and stuck them under her armpits. “Wow, Quinn. Another eloquent plea. How can I possibly resist?”
He moaned, falling back in his seat and rolling his eyes heavenward. “Damn it, woman! Okay, fine.” He turned to her again. Took her face in his hands. “Marry me,” he pleaded. “Okay? Please, Darcy, I—”
“What!?” She waved him off wildly. “No! Are you insane ? Quinn, that’s crazy talk!”
He gave her a warning look. “Darce, I swear to God—”
“Bobby Lee,” she cut in. She held him away forcibly, but the warmth that was blossoming in her eyes served to calm his jagged nerves. A little, anyway. “Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay?”
But . . . “If you don’t want to get married, then what?” he demanded exasperatedly.
She licked her lips. “You’re really serious?”
“As hell.”
“What if this is a huge mistake?”
“We’re both intelligent adults. We’ll think of something.”
She nibbled on her lower lip. “But what if—”
“Darce. Please. I’m dyin’ here. Throw me a bone, at least.”
She closed her eyes, then opened them. “Okay. We could . . . Well, we could tell STORM Command we’d like to work as a team?”
He nodded encouragingly. “Good. Yeah. And?”
“And maybe we could even . . . you know, get a place together somewhere. Try living with each other first? Before we do anything drastic.”
Relief filtered through him. Not because he didn’t want to marry her. But because suddenly he knew with dead certainty he did want to.
And okay, that scared the crap out of him.
Her way was far less likely to end up in a flat-out panic attack.
“Yeah. I’d like that,” he said, smiling at the profound wisdom of the woman he’d chosen to be his for all time. Or had she chosen him . . . ? Either way—“Sounds like an excellent plan.”
She finally let him pull her into his arms for a long, sweet kiss . . . the sweetest of his lifetime. “You are one amazing woman, Darcy Zimmerman,” he whispered. Utterly stunned that anything like this could ever happen to the boy who’d sworn love would never knock on his door, and if it did, he’d slip out the back way.
“Right back at you,” she whispered. “But, Bobby Lee?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Um. Everyone’s watching us.”
He glanced up and realized the helo had landed, and the whole team was gathered in front of the open door, grinning like hyenas.
Slowly a smile spread across his face. “What’s the matter, people? Never heard a man propose to his woman before?”
TARA’S impatience grew by the minute as she watched the video stream from the UAV and listened to the comm. The rest of the team, along with several dozen DHS agents, were combing through the patchwork of woods, lakes, fields, and river bottom surrounding the single-strip airport where Abbas Tawhid had disappeared. Seemingly into thin air.
Unfortunately, the whole area was crisscrossed by dozens of winding roads trafficked by a light but steady stream of morning commuter vehicles, any of which could be speeding Tawhid away from the searchers. Or worse, already have done so.
It could take hours to find him.
Hours that Tara was more and more convinced they didn’t have.
To her chagrin, Quinn had backed up Marc’s decision about not letting her into the field. She didn’t have the training yet, he’d told her, and Kurt Bridger had assigned her to Rand in the Moby. He wasn’t about to countermand a direct order from STORM Command.
But Rand didn’t need her. He’d pulled in a handful of experts from the surrounding DHS units, and they were deep into their analysis, including carefully checking license plates one by one with the UAV’s extreme zoom. Tara was just in the way, taking up space a real analyst could be occupying.
As she’d sat there essentially twiddling her thumbs, she couldn’t help thinking about things. And that was when an alarming theory had started gaining momentum in her mind.
Everyone on the ground was scrambling to catch Tawhid before he slipped out of the search net. They were convinced he was heading for New York City as fast as he could. But the terrorist was not stupid. He had to know law enforcement was combing every inch of Louisiana for him. That today, every federal agency and local PD in the entire country had his face at the top of their Most Wanted posters. Especially in New York. And that it was just a matter of time before he’d be captured.
But for a fanatic like Abbas Tawhid, escape would not be his endgame. Not at this point. When he’d illegally entered the U.S. to perfect his weapon of mass destruction, he must have planned this as his final jihad. Surely, he meant to die here—taking as many people with him as he possibly could and making a bold statement for his twisted cause.
