Cold Spite, page 19
part #1 of Cold Justice® - Most Wanted Series
She watched his Adam’s apple slide up and down his throat as he tipped back his beer. Just the look of him sent a shiver through her body. He reached across the butcher’s block for some more food, and she noticed a dark stain on the back of his T-shirt.
“Are you bleeding?” Her voice came out sharp.
He twisted to look over his shoulder. “It’s nothing. Some burning shrapnel fell out of the sky, and it keeps opening up.” He turned his palms up toward her. “This is the worst of it. Oh, and I banged up my right knee, which hurts like a bitch now that I think about it, but it’s just bruised. I feel most resentful about losing my truck. She was a beauty, and I’d had her for nearly a decade.”
“Wow, hard to imagine you had the truck before we even met.” She picked at the label on the beer. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”
“It does.” His voice dropped. “And yet, other times it seems like yesterday.”
For a moment she couldn’t breathe, the moment as fragile as a spiderweb.
Those golden eyes looked as if he felt it too, but then he looked away, breaking the spell. “Reminds me. I have all the things Killion promised, including an F150 with government plates.” He hitched his head toward the front door. “It’s in the bag by the front door.”
The government tag would prove useful in terms of not getting stopped by other law enforcement personnel but meant Killion could probably track her movements. “What will you be driving?”
His expression was rueful. “I think Killion assumed we’d share, but I can have a teammate pick me up or you could drop me at the gates of Quantico. Tomorrow I’ll borrow a vehicle from work.”
“I kind of like the Porsche I’m driving, but I’ll need to drop it back at the company lot tomorrow.”
“Suits you. Sleek. Classy.”
She glanced at his lips as he smiled that sad smile of his.
Dammit.
She had to get out of here before she did something stupid. But what difference would it make at this point? Her heart couldn’t be broken again—it had never recovered. She knew this wouldn’t go anywhere. She wouldn’t get drawn into the same emotional entanglements that had scared him off last time. But laying him flat on the bed and having her wicked way with him?
The idea of that was tempting.
Her body buzzed.
“Any word on Johnson or Holtz?” She finished her beer and tried not to look like she was thinking about sex because it was truly a bad idea.
“Johnson is on the West Coast. Holtz transferred to SEAL Team Ten a couple of years ago, so he’s based out of Virginia Beach. Apparently, SAC Ridgeway ordered an examination of the prison logs regarding anyone who visited Scanlon in prison after you voiced your concerns to him on Monday afternoon and then died. Trainer got a copy of that report and both the SEALs’ names turned up on it.”
She was surprised Ridgeway had followed up. Presumably her colleagues in San Diego would be examining all her and David’s old cases to see who might hold a grudge. She hated to waste their time this way. She hated that her friends would be grieving her death. She hated hiding, but at the same time what Alex Parker said last night was correct. Catching Scanlon would make it worthwhile.
“I’d like to see that list of visitors. See if I recognize anyone.”
“I can probably arrange that. Trainer might ask Parker for help tracking down all Scanlon’s communications from prison anyway. Will take a while as a lot of journalists and groupies hooked onto his story about being set up by the government, and as far as I can tell Scanlon spoke to anyone who’d listen to his crazy conspiracy theories that were designed to somehow get him out on appeal.”
“Good thing we got him on tape committing his crime then,” she said pointedly.
“Yeah, well, I hated that plan from start to finish, and I hate the memory of it now.” He stared down into his empty beer bottle. “We could have rigged his truck.”
“Not without someone from the cartel potentially spotting the cameras when they loaded the cocaine. Plus, the conversation we had on our trip across the border showed he knew exactly what he was doing. My evidence nailed his case shut.”
“Which is probably why he went for you first.”
She shivered and wished he hadn’t reminded her.
Then she yawned, covering her mouth in surprise. It was early, but she hadn’t slept much last night. “I guess I’m more tired than I realized. There goes my plan to find out where Kevin Holtz lives and stake out his ass overnight.”
“These are Navy SEALs, not some developer caught taking bribes.” Cas’s gaze was molten hot. “They’ll spot a surveillance tail from two hundred feet.”
She rolled her eyes and climbed to her feet.
“Plus, if they are involved and they see you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. And I want Scanlon to believe I’m dead too, but doing nothing while he runs around the country attacking people without any consequence is beyond frustrating.”
“There’ll be consequences. You can bet on it.”
She grimaced because she knew that likely meant HRT being deployed, which put Cas and his team in danger. She hated the thought of that more than she hated the idea of confronting the sonofabitch herself. But she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t go rogue or try to bring Scanlon down alone. If that was her plan, she’d have just stayed dead.
And Demarco would have been blown to smithereens this morning…
Her mouth went dry as the terrible realities of this week pressed down on her. It had been a difficult few days, and she hoped to hell Scanlon was taking a break too so they could all get some rest.
Alex and Yael had set up various programs looking for Scanlon’s face in thousands of online places. Malls. Traffic cams. Airports. Transit. It was scary how much surveillance went on in this country, and that wasn’t even counting any government programs.
Right now, she could barely keep her eyes open. “You finished?”
She cleared the leftovers into the fridge, surprised when he went outside and returned with more supplies, which he put away.
She turned when he was wiping down the counter. His T-shirt had stuck to the dried blood on his back.
“I’m pretty sure the only shower is in the en suite. Why don’t you take one now, and we’ll make sure your back is bandaged afterward so you don’t bleed all over Quentin Savage’s spare bed. I’ll go after you.”
His eyes were dark gold when they met hers. Was he remembering all the times they’d showered together? Or was that just her? He nodded without a word and headed off to gather his belongings.
She crossed her arms and wondered if the lust was all one way. Despite the odd sparks of heat between them, she wasn’t a hundred percent sure he still found her attractive. She didn’t want to care, but for some reason she did.
Which was messed up.
She pressed her lips together. She didn’t need this right now.
And yet, that old adage crept into her mind. No guarantee of tomorrow.
Didn’t matter. She had no intention of humiliating herself again.
Been there. Done that. Had the scars to prove it.
Chapter Thirty-One
Cas stood under the hot spray and gritted his teeth as the water washed the dried blood out of the scrapes and gashes he’d picked up today. His hands stung, and his knee had blown up to twice the normal size.
And yet all he really wanted was to make slow passionate love to Delilah Quinn.
It was ridiculous.
He was a grown man. An elite tactical operator. The man who’d broken her heart. To think for a minute she’d be interested in starting something up with him again was nonsense.
But he’d sensed a softening in her attitude to him. In direct opposition to the hardening of his dick—even now as pain rained down on his flesh. The thought of the two of them together was enough to make all his good intentions evaporate.
Except he refused to mess this up.
He grabbed the shampoo off the shelf and hoped Quentin Savage didn’t mind him using his stuff because in his distracted state he’d left his wash kit in the bedroom.
He knew Savage from various ops and liked him and most of the negotiators. He’d hung out with Max Hawthorne, a former British Special Forces guy, a few times. Eban Winters was an old friend of Ryan Sullivan’s from childhood days. And Charlotte Blood was now a regular part of their HRT family since she’d started dating Novak. There were fundamental differences in each unit’s ethos and tactics, but the bottom line was they all wanted to resolve any crisis with as little fuss and injury as possible. If the negotiators could talk someone into giving up their weapons and hostages great. If they couldn’t, HRT was the last resort in the form of a physical assault.
Tip of the spear.
Protecting innocents was what mattered. Servare vitas—“to save lives” was their motto. Sometimes that meant standing down. And sometimes it meant fast-roping onto a building full of armed terrorists who were actively shooting back.
He rinsed the shampoo from his hair and then stared at the pristine white towels on the rack.
Shit.
He’d also forgotten to grab the towel out of his bag. Putting on wet clothes before applying salve and bandages defeated the point of getting cleaned up.
Dammit.
He couldn’t even pat his front down because his palms had opened up again and he didn’t want to stain anything.
He grabbed his dirty T-shirt as a modesty shield and opened the door into the bedroom where his go-bag sat on the bed.
Dripping wet, he breathed out a sigh of relief that the room was empty and then opened the bag wide to search for his dark gray sports towel.
A knock on the door had him whipping that sucker out and wrapping it around his hips like a whiplash as Delilah opened the door an inch.
“You decent?”
He cleared his throat. “Not exactly, but nothing you haven’t seen before.” He kept his hands low over his dick, which had a mind of its own when it came to this woman.
She opened the door wider, and her gaze ran up and down his body. “You couldn’t find a bigger towel?”
Her tone was scathing, but the flush in her cheeks told a different story. Then her eyes lowered. “Damn, Demarco, you need an icepack on that.”
It took him a moment to realize she was referring to his knee. “It’s fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll go see if they have one in the freezer.”
He used her absence to quickly drag on a pair of underwear. She was back before he could do anything else.
“Sit.”
He shook his head. Raised his weeping hands. “I don’t want to get blood on the sheets.”
Lines formed between her fine brown brows. “Turn around.”
He did so reluctantly and heard her sharp inhale.
“Let’s go into the kitchen. I’ll get you bandaged up there.”
He felt a little stupid walking into the kitchen in his underwear, but if she could be blasé about the situation then so could he.
She pulled out the stool and waited until he’d sat down. “Here.”
She pressed the cold pack into his hand, so he rested it on his knee.
She dragged another stool closer. “Prop your leg up here for a minute.”
He needed both hands to raise his leg, which told him the injury was possibly worse than he’d initially thought. He hadn’t really noticed the pain until now. He’d been too busy worrying about Delilah and catching Scanlon and being part of the investigation into the bombing. He winced as he pressed the cold pack hard against the swelling.
She went behind him, and he held his breath in anticipation of her touching him. The soft drift of cotton balls floated over his skin as she cleaned him up.
He shivered.
“Are you cold? I can turn up the heating—”
“I’m not cold.” His voice came out low and rough.
Her touch paused for a second before the cotton ball came back, wet and cold this time and sharply painful as she disinfected the wounds.
He straightened in discomfort.
“Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about.”
The delicate touch of her finger wiped antibiotic cream over the wounds. “It’s stopped bleeding, but I’ll put some gauze and Band-Aids over them. You should probably sleep on your front, but you’ll need to keep the knee raised so it might not be possible.”
She paused. “I, um, discovered that the second bedroom has been turned into an office. There’s only one bed. So I’ll sleep on the couch.”
He twisted around and their eyes met. “You are not sleeping on the couch. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t sleep on a couch with all these injuries.”
They were minor. “Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Not happening.”
He was probably going to hell, so he decided to make it worth his while.
“So we’ll both take the bed. We’re adults. I promise I won’t invade your space.” He laughed, bitterness leaking out. “It’s not as if you’d be interested in anything I have to offer anyway, so what’s the issue?”
The idea of just sleeping beside her made him ache, not sexually, although that was a given when she was around, but the plain old-fashioned need to be close to someone who meant more to him than anyone else in the world.
A sobering thought.
She looked away, clearly unwilling to acknowledge the truth of his words. She pressed a small pad against his back and then carefully taped the edges flat. He could feel her breath on his skin as she placed large band aids on other cuts.
He thought they were done, but then she took his hands in hers and cleaned and tended each one like he was precious to her.
Emotion lodged in his throat.
He didn’t deserve her kindness.
The fact he’d never stopped loving her reared up so large it was like a flashing neon light exploding around his head.
She expertly bandaged each palm. Tied them off.
“Fine. We’ll share the bed. You’re in no condition to do anything anyway.”
His dick decided to manfully protest but thankfully, she’d turned away to clean up the mess.
“Leave that. I’ll clean up while you shower. Then we’ll both get some sleep.” His voice was gruff. He was getting to share a bed with Delilah again, something he’d thought would never happen.
He told himself it didn’t mean anything, but maybe his plan for redemption was working. All it had taken was a massive explosion and a busted knee.
She slipped away without saying anything. Cas concentrated on clearing away the blood-soaked swabs and not thinking about the night ahead. One thing for sure. He was feeling no pain.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Joseph watched the sickle moon reflect off the bayou. He’d missed this in prison. Missed the scents and flavor of Cajun country, the uniqueness of the French triangle of Louisiana—the swamp, the food, the women, the music, the language. He intended to enjoy all of it in its entirety just as soon as he finished what he needed to do. He didn’t plan on going back inside. He’d spent a lot of time figuring out exactly how to do what he needed without getting caught. Sure, they might suspect him, but proving it was another thing entirely.
He’d never confess.
Confessing was for couyons.
He was tired. He was pissed that the bomb hadn’t killed or even maimed Casta Demarco.
Today had been a bust. A lot of effort for nothing. Still, it had been fun to make that motherfucker fly through the air.
He smirked.
Perhaps it wasn’t a waste. Demarco wouldn’t know who was to blame, and even if he did suspect, he couldn’t prove nothing.
“Call Nicole.” Virgil’s gruff words nudged him into action.
Now wasn’t the time to veer from the plan. Cas Demarco’s survival was a minor detail. Temporary. No point rushing things. He knew where Demarco worked. He relished a challenge. And he wasn’t the only one who wanted a piece of that bastard. He and his associate had a deal. Something that would get them both what they wanted without either of them going to prison—assuming they didn’t screw up.
He wasn’t sure he trusted his associate not to give him up should they get caught so he made sure his alibi was watertight.
He pulled his cell out of the glovebox where it had spent the day. Dialed Nicole’s number.
“Joseph?” Her voice was wary.
“Apologies for calling this late.” He happened to know that Preston attended a Rotary meeting on Wednesday nights. “I was wondering if I’d be able to see Melody again soon?”
“Oh. Yes.” She laughed. “Yes. She had a good time. I’m glad you two got along. When were you thinking?”
“I was wondering if I could take her overnight this time—if it’s okay with you.” You fat cunt. “I could fly up Friday night. Take her to the movies, then the zoo or something on Saturday. Bring her back Saturday evening.”
“We have dinner plans on Saturday night…”
“Even better. I’ll bring her back before church on Sunday morning, and you can save money on a sitter.”
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I suppose that would be okay. I need to ask Preston first.”
“I’m Melody’s father, not Preston.” The words were sharper than he’d intended, and Virgil shot him a warning look.
“I know.” God, she was such a weak fool. “I just want to make sure that fits with our plans. I doubt he’ll object.”
Preston could shove his objections up his skinny ass.
“You do that, cher, but soon, huh?” The endearment tasted sour on his tongue. “Good chance I may get a job on the rigs. If so, it’ll be a couple of weeks before I’ll be able to come up to Seattle again. But if Melody wants, maybe she could come down here sometime. Meet her grandpa. See where her ancestors come from.”
His family had a big old house in LaCroix that had come down from his mother’s side of the family. His father owned and ran the only decent mechanic’s shop in town. They also had a camp out on Lake Fortuna where they spent as much time as possible hunting and fishing.
