Fixed Asset (Downrange), page 6
Jack’s thumb glided over my cheek to my lips, and he silenced me.
His eyes roamed my face. Some of the unease in his expression faded, but the knot in my stomach was getting tighter.
“I’ve never not worn protection,” he told me and frowned.
Was he mad . . . at me?
I turned my head, freeing my lips, and asked, “And that’s my fault?”
Lightning quick, his hand went from my cheek to the back of my neck. He yanked me closer, while at the same time he dipped his head.
“It’s my fault. I lost control. I was so caught up, wanted inside you so badly, I forgot.”
Why did that make me giddy? It was totally irresponsible, yet I didn’t care. The thought of little ol’ me making big, bad, tough Jack Donovan lose control and forget a condom filled me with womanly pride.
“I see you like that,” he noted.
I shrugged, fully coming back to my smart-ass self.
“We’ll see how much you like it when I’m leaking out of you while you’re kitted up, waiting for orders.” Jack’s lips twitched, and he finished with, “Though, I know I’m gonna like that part.”
My eyes narrowed. However, I couldn’t fully commit to the glare.
“Is that an alpha-male thing?”
“No, baby, it’s a Jack thing.”
I didn’t have a comeback for that, so I remained quiet. So did Jack. His eyes no longer held any apprehension, nor were they glittery with lust. They now held something new, a warmth and tenderness I’d never seen—not from him, not from anyone in my life. Except maybe my mom and gran, though their warmth was different, a familial bond. Jack’s was tinged with intimacy.
“I could get lost in you,” he whispered. “You’re so damn gorgeous, if I forget to brace, you steal my breath.” He dropped his forehead to mine, and he quietly admitted, “It’s been torture. Nine months of hell staying away from you.”
My heart hammered in my chest as it swelled. The pain of watching him walk away from me in Vegas evaporated, the agony of losing him receding. Hope and happiness warred for the top spot.
Before I could respond, there was another knock on the door.
“Two-minute warning,” Mason called out.
The moment shattered.
Jack lifted his head, stared down at me, eyes conflicted. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
“I can—”
“You can, but I’m gonna do it.”
All righty, then.
Jack stepped away, turned, and reached into the shower, giving me my first look at his bare ass. And good Lord, was it fine. I was still taking it in when he turned back around. I’d had the pleasure of feeling that thick, long dick, but seeing it made my mouth go dry. I licked my lips. Jack groaned. I continued to stare until I lost sight of his dick, and his chest filled my vision instead when he stepped back between my legs, reached to the side, and turned on the faucet.
Ass, dick, chest—his body was a wonderland of visual delights. I could spend hours perusing the ridges and valleys, the dips and hard plains of muscle.
The feel of a warm, wet cloth between my legs pulled me from my thoughts. I glanced up to find Jack watching himself gently cleaning the evidence of his orgasm from me. When he was done, he pressed the cloth over my pussy, cupping me there, and lifted his eyes to meet mine.
Watching him cleaning me was wildly erotic in a profound way—an intimacy that went beyond private and personal. In that moment, I knew whatever happened between me and Jack, I would never in my life share something so special with another man. This was Jack’s, only his, and nothing could or would compare.
“Ready, baby?”
No. I never wanted to leave this cocoon of warmth he’d created. I didn’t want anything to invade or threaten to take him away from me. And sadly, deep down, I knew once the real world came crashing back in, he’d remember I was who I was, and his frustration and anger would steal him from me.
“Yeah.”
He leaned forward, pressed a sweet kiss on my lips that left me hoping it wasn’t goodbye.
But I feared it was.
We were dressed and back downstairs.
Obviously, it had taken us more than two minutes.
Mason and Fallon were lounging in chairs, both wearing matching grins. The living room looked like battle central, with M4s and handguns laid out on the couch, vests and ammo stacked on the coffee table.
“Where’s Pete?” Jack inquired.
“Went out to find little miss a vest to circumvent the argument he knew would ensue,” Mason spoke up.
A vest was appreciated, preventing an argument much appreciated, however, Pete going out in search of one seemed to be a fool’s errand.
“Where in the world is he going to find me a vest?”
“We don’t question Pete’s powers,” Fallon informed me. “We just accept the fruit and don’t ask which tree he shook down to provide it.”
“Seriously? There’s no way he’s coming back with a vest.”
“We’ll see.” Fallon lifted his shoulders and dropped them back down with a sigh.
“What’s going on?” Jack circled to the real question.
“Shep called,” Mason said, but not without flashing a knowing smirk.
I searched my feelings and wondered if I should be embarrassed he clearly knew what had been happening in the bedroom when he knocked. I didn’t find a smidgeon of embarrassment or shame. So what if he knew? So what if he heard? So what if he dished out jibes? I was riding the high of Jack. Nothing was going to knock me off the wave of mellow.
“And? You going to enlighten us?”
“You sure you’re back to firing on all cylinders after—”
“Don’t,” Jack gritted out, obviously not riding the same wave I was.
Mason’s gaze flew to me, either to make sure I hadn’t found offense in his would-have-been taunt, or to check if my brain had reengaged and I was ready for the rest of the brief.
I gave him a shoulder lift and a smile. He returned the gesture by busting out laughing.
“Yeah, I think you’re a little bit of all right, Catarina Keys,” he said as he chuckled.
I took that as a compliment.
Mason continued with his brief. “Word is there’s an attack planned on the compound where Berta’s holed up. They’ve been notified, and she’s requested backup. We’re her backup.”
Jack’s gaze shifted to me. I felt the weight of his stare. My Jack was gone. Angry, scorch-the-earth-if-you-put-yourself-in-danger Jack was back. “Did you know about the attack being planned?”
“No, Jack, if I knew my target was under attack I would’ve said something. I need her alive to deliver my intel.”
“And that is?”
I blew out a breath, called up the imaginary patience I didn’t have and never pretended to be in possession of, and then for good measure, counted to ten.
“She asked for information. The CIA found it for her but it took them longer than they thought it would. By the time they had it, she’d gone back underground. They sent me to give her what she’d asked for.”
“I didn’t ask for the mission brief. I asked what the intel was.”
“And I gave you what I’m willing to give.”
“I’m not sure I like that the CIA is involved,” Fallon put in.
“I’m positive I don’t,” Mason volleyed. “Makes me twitchy and leaves me wondering how many ways they’re gonna fuck our op.”
“Why would they screw with your op?” I asked.
Mason morphed back into a seasoned warfighter, leaving the lady-killer smile in the dust and replacing it with a deep scowl.
“I mean no disrespect, but you asking that shows your inexperience with the Agency. Rule one: If they can fuck you, they will. Rule two: Always cover your ass, because they won’t. Rule three is a mash-up of one and two: They’ll let you swing to protect themselves. Whatever it is they want you to deliver to Berta is what’s important to them at the moment, but that moment can shift second to second and something else can become more important. If they feel like we’re in their way, they’ll fuck us however they need to make sure what’s important to them is what happens.
“We have one objective—get Berta the resources she needs to complete her mission. Once we have her and her convoy safe and secure, we’re mission complete. The CIA catches wind, decides they don’t want those bodies moved out of Honduras, they tip off the authorities, the authorities alert the gangs where we’re headed and what routes we’re using, we’re screwed . . . as in dead.”
A strange tightness coiled in my stomach. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. An instinct I’d spent my adult life honing and perfecting, one that had saved my life many times, alerted.
Something wasn’t adding up.
And worse, I had a bad feeling I was being used as a pawn.
“Why wouldn’t the CIA want Berta to escape the country with her convoy, whom I presume are women and children?”
Mason exchanged a look with Fallon before he refocused on me.
“What message are you delivering?” Mason shot back.
It wasn’t annoyance I was feeling. It was panic when I begged, “Please, Mason, no games, no chess moves. Why wouldn’t the CIA want her to leave?”
Mason’s attention turned acute. “Berta’s taking the president’s wife, Maria Sanchez, and, at her request, their children, out of the country. If the CIA deemed it would be in their best interest, they could use this information to make nice with the president, and of course lord the good turn over his head for future use.”
I needed to think.
The puzzle wasn’t making sense.
Was I overreacting?
Jack’s hand wrapped around my bicep and swung me to face him.
“What’s going on?”
“I need a minute.”
“To do what?”
“To think. Something’s not right. It never is, but pretense and duplicity are to be expected when dealing with the CIA. This isn’t my first time working with them. So contrary to Mason’s assessment, I’m well aware of all the ways the Agency can screw you over. Tom would likely sell his grandmother out, then claim it was for the greater good. However, that’s not what’s bothering me. It goes deeper than that, and now that I have more information, it’s nagging at my gut. I feel it. I just can’t figure out what it is.”
Jack didn’t let go, but he did tilt his head to the side to study me.
“Talk it out,” he demanded.
“Jack—”
“No game. No intel-gathering expedition. Just talk through the problem.”
I glanced around the room. Mason and Fallon were both alert, watching closely, but I didn’t get the read from either of them they were playing me. This wasn’t an elaborate setup to get me to tell them something I was closely guarding. I didn’t have to look at Jack to know he wouldn’t do something underhanded to get me to talk—get angry, yes. Yell at me, yes. Threaten wild and crazy warnings he had no intentions of inflicting, also yes. Play me dirty, no way.
“I have a subcutaneous tracking device in my hip,” I announced.
“Motherfucker,” Mason growled and got to his feet.
Jack gave me a little shake when my attention went to Mason. “Go on.”
I sucked in a breath and braced for Jack’s ire. “That’s why I felt safe-ish offering myself up. That, and I researched the gangs in the area. I had a plan. I knew which territory I needed to be in when it happened. My location would be monitored. The CIA would get new intel on where the newer gangs were conducting business, and my location would be leaked in hopes Berta would be lured out of hiding. If not, an extraction team would be sent in to get me.”
Jack’s jaw was clenched tight, the muscle in his cheek jumping.
He wasn’t pissed, he was murderous.
“Go on,” he gritted through his fury.
“The urgency of the intel never made sense.”
“Stop,” Fallon said. “You’re boxed in, focused on the intel, instead of looking at the whole picture. Start at the beginning. That’s where the problem starts.”
Damn. He was right.
But I needed to move to think.
I glanced back at Jack and asked, “Honey, can you let me go? I need to move to think.”
My slip-up didn’t compute until Jack’s face went soft, his eyes gentled, and he gave my arm a soft squeeze before he let me go.
Damn, I wanted to kiss him. Or grab him and drag him back upstairs. Or maybe hug him.
“Cat?” Mason called.
“Right. Okay.” I clawed my hands through my hair. “I left the Marshals Service after Vegas. I needed a change. I was approached by a woman named Jasmin Parker—”
“Nightstalker approached you?” Fallon asked, followed by a low whistle. “And you turned down working for Z Corps?”
I didn’t bother asking Fallon how he knew Jasmin or Z Corps. I figured everyone in the private security sector knew who Zane Lewis was, and his teams. Further, I didn’t need to ask how he knew I’d turned down the job; Zane’s dislike of the CIA was legendary.
Instead, I told him, “Yes. I decided I didn’t want to be tied down to a team. I wanted to be free to take the jobs I wanted to take and not ones assigned to me. I’ve spent my professional life on the receiving end of orders. I needed a change, but I have valuable skills I didn’t want to go to waste. I hadn’t yet decided exactly what I was going to do, when an old CIA contact from my Army days reached out and asked if I would be interested in a solo mission.”
“How did this person know you were a free agent?” Mason interjected.
Good question.
“I’ve known Tom for years. He was the case officer on a terrorist threat in London I helped with. Over the years, I’ve consulted on other cases for him. I was never fully read into the situation, but given enough information to give my opinion. All of that to say, I know Tom, he takes spy games to the extreme, so when I asked how he knew I’d left the SOIB, and his answer was he had his ways, I didn’t push because I knew it would get me nowhere. I actually assumed Jasmin’s approach tipped Tom off.”
I wasn’t positive the CIA watched Z Corps that closely. It wasn’t like Zane Lewis was a criminal, but he sure as hell had his hand in everything worth knowing. Surely they kept an eye.
Mason dipped his chin, so I went on.
“I met Tom at a strip mall in Virginia. Typical CIA off-site location. Nothing out of the ordinary. I already had all the proper clearances from the Marshals Service. I didn’t need a higher level of clearance since my mission isn’t a matter of national security, more a friendly gesture to an ally. That was how it was presented.”
I turned on my heel and started pacing.
Where’s the problem? Why isn’t it coming to me?
“Berta had asked the CIA to find a man for her. She wanted his location. Well, they found him and have been trying to reach out to her for six months. Tom said it was urgent Berta get this man’s location. But why? Why now, when it wasn’t urgent six months ago? We’ve had months to send in an operations officer to get this intel to her.” I stopped pacing, looked at Jack, and asked again, “Why now?”
“Without knowing who, I can’t answer that. Maybe this man is now in danger. Maybe she gave them a time frame for this intel to be delivered and they’re running out of time? There could be a plausible explanation.”
“Derek Nicolson,” I blurted out.
“Come again?” Mason grunted.
“I have Derek’s location.”
“No, you don’t,” Mason denied.
Something sinister crowded the room, and it was emanating from Mason. So dark and ominous, it had me taking a step away from him. That’s when I noticed Pete was leaning against the archway leading to the kitchen. Even though his arms were crossed over his chest, his manner looked casual. However, upon further inspection, some of the menacing vibrations were also rolling off him.
I was missing something huge.
“Who’s Derek Nicolson?”
“He was a piece-of-shit trafficker who favored children,” Mason spat.
“Was? But isn’t anymore?”
“Not unless he’s doing that shit in hell. Though I’d like to believe not even the devil would find that shit acceptable and Nicolson is spending an eternity on the receiving end of the misery he inflicted.”
My gaze flicked to Pete.
“Where’d they tell you he was?”
“Barcelona.”
Pete shook his head. “Not even close.”
“You took him out,” I surmised.
“Yup, after Mase had his fun.”
Well, that explained the dark and ominous.
“Now we work the problem,” Fallon announced. “But first you need to get rid of that tracking device, and we need to move.”
He wasn’t wrong. It hadn’t felt great going in, and I’d been given a local to prevent the pain. I was pretty sure the guys didn’t carry around lidocaine, so coming out, it was probably going to hurt like a bitch.
“Will you do it?” I asked Jack.
“Fallon has more medical training than I do.”
I didn’t want Fallon taking it out. I wanted Jack.
With a sigh, Jack changed his mind. “Fallon, grab your kit and meet us upstairs.”
“Sucker,” Fallon mumbled under his breath.
Jack flipped him off, then turned his hand and offered it to me. “C’mere, Cat.”
I went.
When I was within reaching distance, he tugged me the rest of the way. My hand came up and planted on his hard chest to break my fall. Once Jack had me where he wanted, his forehead gently hit mine.
“We’ll figure this out.”
I pinched my lips. Part of me embarrassed I’d been screwed over like an amateur, the other, bigger part pissed that someone I had trusted did the screwing.
Fifteen minutes later, I had tears in my eyes, the bloody tracker was in the sink, and Jack was cleaning the tiny incision he’d made.
“Took that like a champ,” Fallon lied.
I’d actually bitten down on a belt, something I thought was an old-timer antidote. The nylon material only stifled my grunts, groans, and curses.
