Fixed Asset (Downrange), page 5
Catarina turned wary.
Interesting.
Further from that, what was more curious and annoying was she didn’t have a quick and ready comeback for Pete.
I followed Cat and the team into the dining room, commandeering the chair farthest away from the one Cat chose.
Pete cut straight to it. “Why’d you leave the Marshals Service?”
Now, that was a tidbit I was unaware of.
“Is that the real question you want to ask?” Cat shot back.
“For starters. Then we’ll move to why, after years of the CIA approaching you while you were in the Army, then while you were with Homeland, and again while you were with the Sex Offender Investigation Branch, you finally decided to take them up on their offer.”
Cat shrugged. “I was bored.”
Her tone made her sound just that—bored and uninterested.
“You seem to get bored a lot, the way you jumped from command to command. Didn’t stay on a team for more than a workup.”
“Or alternately, my skills were in high demand and the Army moved me where they needed.”
“I could see that,” Pete conceded. “It’s not every day the Army finds themselves a human lie detector with your powers of persuasion.”
What the hell was Pete talking about? That wasn’t in the original dossier I’d read back in Nevada.
“Is that what your source told you? Sorry, but they oversold my skills. I’m observant, not a lie detector. And I didn’t have to persuade—that was always the problem. Our military forgot just because cattle are treated better than women in most of the countries we were in, doesn’t mean they weren’t valuable. All I had to do was ask nicely, show some kindness, and they talked. You know the sad part? They didn’t want the money. They couldn’t risk being caught with it. All they wanted was to feel seen, heard, valued. Once I gave them that, they gave up their men.”
Well, fuck.
“Your intel took out a lot of terrorists.”
“I know,” Cat said proudly.
“Is that why you left the SOIB? The CIA offered to send you to Honduras to try your hand at turning women into informants?”
“Nope.”
She was lying. I saw the same small twist under her left eye I’d seen back in Vegas, when she’d told me she’d wait until we had backup in place before she headed to the auction at the mansion. News flash, she hadn’t waited. Instead of making an excuse about why she was going to be late and driving herself there, she’d gone with Martin and his lackeys.
“Friends don’t lie to friends, Catarina,” I told her.
“Friends? I was unaware we’d all become friends. In that case, tell me, old buddy, why are you in Honduras?”
“We’re here to find a woman named Berta Lanza. She’s a Lenca woman who has managed to assemble a collective of Indigenous women who’ve built a network of safe passage for women and children to flee the country.”
When I was done, Catarina was staring at me with her lips parted, clearly surprised I’d be forthright and end the subterfuge. Now was not the time for a long, drawn-out game of battle chess.
I dipped my chin to indicate it was her turn.
“The Angel of Death,” she muttered.
“You’ve heard of her?” Pete asked.
“No. I mean, yes, I’ve heard of her. She’s why I’m here.”
And . . . fuck again.
“What does the CIA want with Berta?” Fallon joined.
“Nothing. I’m here to give her intel.”
Pete blew out a frustrated breath and leaned back in his chair.
“What’s the intel?” Mason inquired.
“Why do you want her?” Cat volleyed.
“Oh, no, friend, Jack went first last time. Your turn to give up the goods first.”
Catarina raised a brow and remained silent.
It was then that something hit me square in the chest. Cat had no idea where Berta was. She could’ve been in the city waiting on word of a location like we were. But the CIA had no idea where Berta was or they would’ve sent Cat directly to her or sent a local source to deliver a message.
The Agency needed Cat to find the Angel of Death.
And there was a way to get Berta’s attention.
“You were going to use yourself as bait,” I ground out.
Cat’s gaze slowly glided around the table before finally landing on me with a defiant lift of her jaw.
Motherfucker.
“Have you lost your fucking mind, woman?”
“I believe you’ve already asked that. And we established—”
“The only thing we’ve established is that you’re goddamn insane,” I growled, and pushed back from the table, taking to my feet but bending forward to plant my palms on the tabletop. “You’re in a country where nearly four hundred woman are murdered every year. That’s one a day, sometimes two or more. And you’re setting yourself up to be taken in hopes Berta gets word an American woman was taken, and she herself swoops in to save you or she sends her people. The problem with that is, hope isn’t a fucking plan. Hope doesn’t mean shit when those animals can violate you in ways you’d wish they’d killed you. And they can do that within minutes of your abduction. They could do that shit to you in broad daylight on the sidewalk, and as you’ve seen, no one would come rolling to your rescue.”
Catarina calmly sat there with a mask of bland interest on her gorgeous face. A hundred different horrific scenarios sped through my mind, each worse than the one before. All of the foul ways her beautiful body could be violated. All the ways I would kill any man who dared to touch her, harm her, take her against her will.
Fuck this.
I pushed up from the table, glanced over at Pete, and as soon as he gave me a dip of his chin, I made my way across the room. I stopped at the archway and turned back to Catarina.
“You were wrong,” I told her.
“What was I wrong about?” she snottily asked.
“About no one caring enough to pay your ransom.” I poked my chest with a finger. “I care. I’d pay it. And just so we’re clear, I’ll lose my goddamn mind if you continue with this bullshit.”
There was no heat or attitude when she probed, “More than you are now?”
“Baby, this is me keeping my cool. You’ll watch the world burn before I stand by and watch you pull this shit for a second time. Vegas was careless; this is lunacy.”
The woman didn’t know when to quit—her shoulders squared, her jaw lifted, exposing more of her delicate throat. I watched her swallow, then heard her lie. “I had it covered.”
She did not.
I turned and left the room without dignifying her asinine statement. If she’d had cover or backup, I wouldn’t have been able to snatch her off the street. If the CIA had a man close, she wouldn’t, right now, be sitting in a house two hundred and eighty kilometers from where she’d been taken.
The last hour had done nothing to touch my anger. Not the two-mile run I’d taken around the block to blow off steam, which also provided a good cover to surveil the neighborhood. The beautiful mountains behind the house did nothing to quiet the voices in my head. My shower proved frustrating when visions of Catarina joining me—naked, wet, and soapy—filled my mind.
Every damn thing revolved around the frustrating woman.
I opened the door to the bathroom, and speak of the devil. There she was, sitting on the side of the bed with her bare feet up on the wood frame and her hands in her lap, looking deceptively innocent.
“Now’s not a good time.”
I stopped at what I hoped was a safe distance and tightened the towel around my waist.
It was like I hadn’t spoken. She didn’t move—not her gaze from my bare chest, not her legs to take her out of the room, not a muscle.
“Catarina.” I growled her name, unable to keep my impatience in check.
I needed her to leave before what was left of my control slipped.
Her eyes flew up along with her hands, palms facing me in surrender.
“I’m not here to argue.”
That was unlikely. I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if her middle name was Scrappy, the way she loved to squabble.
“You need to leave.”
She pushed to her feet and took a step in my direction. I took a step back, which put me in the doorway.
“Please, Jack. We need to talk.”
The woman didn’t possess an ounce of self-preservation, but I knew she had situational awareness. How she thought now was a good time was lost on me.
“For the love of God, Catarina, just once pull up whatever survival instincts you have, recognize the danger, and get the hell out.”
Her eyes turned squinty, and she advanced.
“I’m in no danger from you.”
Was she crazy?
Scratch that—asked and answered with a resounding hell yes.
“Catarina.”
“Jack.”
My cock twitched.
“You need to leave now.”
“We need to talk.”
I sucked in a breath, grabbed ahold of what was left of my restraint—which was now limited to holding my body perfectly still—and warned, “If you stay in this room, we won’t be talking.”
I saw the hunger bloom in her eyes, and the corresponding tremble—no, that wasn’t a tremble, it was a full-body quake that made my dick weep with need. I was two seconds away from snapping and not above pleading.
“Please, I’m begging, Cat, stop fucking around and get out.”
“Do I scare you?”
There was that smart-ass mouth of hers that never failed to drive me crazy.
“No. I’m scared of what I’m going to do to you.”
She closed the remaining distance between us, stopping so close that if I moved an inch in her direction, her tits would be on my chest. Dark and dangerous thoughts flooded. Snatches of fantasies flew through my mind, all the things I’d dreamed of doing to her, all the ways I wanted her.
Cat lifted her hand, but I quickly caught her wrist before it hit its destination.
“You don’t want to do that.”
“Don’t tell me what I want, Jack,” she scolded.
And why did that turn me the fuck on?
Then, in a moment of weakness and insanity, I released her hand. She didn’t go for the towel and pull it off like I thought she would.
Instead, she found the opening and shoved her hand through it, then fisted my cock.
Heat coiled in my balls, and before I knew what I was doing, my hips jerked forward into her palm. Cat’s thumb brushed over the head, smearing precome over the crown. A catlike smile curled her lips up.
“Hmm,” she hummed.
The damage was done. Catarina Keys was stroking my dick. It was too late to second-guess my foolishness.
“Is this what you wanted, Cat, to give me a hand job?”
Her hand tightened around my shaft, pulling a grunt out of me. The silence stretched a beat, then two. When she didn’t answer, I blinked away the haze of lust she was creating and studied her expression. The woman was so ballsy and bold, it would’ve been easy to miss it—the shyness lingering just under the surface.
She wanted it, she just didn’t know how to ask for it.
“Take off your pants, Cat.”
Relief mixed with desire. But she still didn’t move.
“Now, baby. Pull your pants off.”
Her hand released my dick, went to her pants, unsnapped the button, pulled the zipper down, peeled the jeans over her ass, and she shimmied them down her thighs. After she kicked them away, I hooked her around the back of her neck and yanked her to my chest.
“Eyes, Catarina.” She lifted her gaze to mine. “You sure?”
Her eyes started to narrow.
My hand on the back of her neck squeezed.
“No sass, no attitude. Tell me you’re sure. I need to hear you say it.”
Cat rolled up on her toes, and with her lips a breath away, she nearly spat, “I’m sure.”
That was all I needed.
But it wasn’t me who made the first move.
Catarina attacked.
Her mouth hit mine, her tongue invaded, and fucking finally I had the taste of her I wanted.
My hands went to her ass, I hauled her up, my towel fell away, and I walked with her wrapped around me back into the bathroom. One of her hands slid around the back of my neck, then up into my hair. Her short nails dug into my scalp. She kissed like she did everything else, bold, aggressive, no holding back.
Christ, phenomenal.
Better than I imagined.
I set her ass on the vanity top, shifted my hands—one going between her legs, the other going under her tee to cup her tit. Catarina whimpered and used those strong thighs as leverage to grind her pussy into my hand. She might’ve been shy with her words, but her body had no problem asking for what it wanted.
I moved the material of her panties to the side, slid a finger through her excitement, and pushed inside. So damn wet, she was drenched.
My dick pulsed with need.
Catarina shifted again, tore her mouth from mine, and groaned, “Now.”
This close, I could see all the different shades of blue in her beautiful eyes. Clear blue filled with arousal.
A sudden wave of tenderness hit me. All the feelings I’d buried came rushing to the surface. Nothing had changed since Vegas. If anything, it was worse now. But I could no longer fight it. If nothing else, I’d take her back and keep her safe until her mission was over. Then I’d let her go again. I’d let her be free to be who she needed to be without me standing in her way. But right now, for as long as I had her, I wasn’t going to hold back, at least not physically.
I released her breast, pulled my other hand free, hooked my fingers under the strings at the sides of her panties, and yanked. The flimsy material ripped easily.
Cat’s eyes rounded, her lips quirked, and through a sultry smile she breathed, “Smooth.”
I took my dick in hand, rubbed the head over her clit, and warned, “It’s about to get rough.”
With no further warning, I drove my hips forward. Catarina’s yelp of surprise turned into a low, throaty groan. I held still, relishing the feel of her tight pussy hugging my dick.
“Yo, Jack!” My name was accompanied with two loud raps on the bedroom door.
Fuck.
Catarina jolted. Her inner muscles squeezed my cock; the movement had my balls tightening.
“Ten minutes, we’re rolling out,” Mason yelled through the door.
In my moment of indecision, Catarina shook her head.
“Don’t you dare.” She growled her demand.
“It’s cute you think you’re in charge,” I told her as I moved my fingers to her clit and circled.
“Oh God.”
I drew back, drove in, and watched her eyes go hooded.
“More,” she pleaded.
“Unlock your legs.”
Catarina immediately loosened her legs. I hooked one leg behind her knee, hitched it higher, and on my next drive slid in deeper.
Her pussy rippled—so tight, so wet, my mind blanked. No mission. No ten-minute warning. No danger. Just us, our bodies—her cunt, my cock, and the driving need to feel her fall apart. The need to hear her call out my name. The need to claim, to mark her as mine, to tie her to me.
“Jack.”
There it was.
My name falling from her lips.
“Give it to me,” I demanded.
With a rough pinch of her clit, she gave. Her body locked tight, her pussy clamped down, and I followed her over the edge into the darkness and exploded.
“Fuck, baby,” I snarled.
White-hot pleasure clawed at my chest. My dick jerked with each rope of come that forcefully spilled. This wasn’t an orgasm, it was an out-of-body experience I never wanted to end. Buried deep in Catarina. Finally. I closed my eyes and let the euphoria pull me under.
Chapter Seven
I was still swimming up from the best orgasm I’d ever had in my whole life. My one and only that was not given to me by my own hand.
Holy wow.
“Baby?”
I blinked away the haze and focused on Jack’s handsome face.
“Huh?”
His hand came up and cupped my cheek, the touch so gentle I nuzzled into his palm.
“You okay?”
“Oh yeah.”
I was more than okay, I was stupendous. The area between my legs was gloriously sore. My mind was filled with memories of Jack’s rough thrusts, which came in second place only to the hungry look in his eyes as he fucked me. The look won out only because it made me feel powerful, wanted, so desired Jack couldn’t hide it. I’d never forget that look or the feeling.
“Fucks me to say this, but we only have a minute before someone comes knocking again.”
Shit, how had I forgotten?
Because you had a hot guy banging you with his hot-guy big dick, giving you a mind-erasing orgasm.
Right, that was why.
For all my bravado when I was hot and bothered and worked up, now that I was post climax, I had no idea what I was supposed to do.
Jack did. He slid out.
I whimpered at the loss of him—then he froze.
“What’s wrong?” I asked when he didn’t move.
He glanced down between my legs. A sudden bout of shyness hit, and I tried to close my legs. This didn’t work for two reasons—first, his hips were in the way, second, his hands went to my thighs and kept them spread.
His gaze drifted back up. My belly did a somersault at the troubled look on his face.
“Jack?”
“I didn’t wear a condom.”
Well, damn.
“I’m on birth control,” I told him. “It’s an implant in my arm.”
He nodded but was no less unsettled.
An unpleasant thought hit me.
“I’m clean. I mean, I don’t have—”
