Chapter Two
Benedict tried not to stare as Michelle slipped out of her slacks and reached for the sweats.
Goddamn. He hadn’t expected this. Not at all. When Titanium had told him he was extracting an analyst, he’d envisioned someone dowdy and dumpy. Coke bottle glasses at the very least. Not this…fucking vision. She was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous with sharp, elegant features, silky black hair in a stylish bob, enormous green eyes and fuck…curves that made his mouth water.
As her pants fell to the floor, and his gaze landed on the twin dimples at the base of her back, he had to swallow his drool. His cock stirred. Howled. With iron hard determination, he willed it to shut up.
He’d never been distracted by a woman before and he wasn’t starting now.
She lifted a leg to tug the sweatpants on and the bunch of her ass sent a shiver through him. It annoyed him mightily, this awareness, which was probably why his voice was so harsh when he barked, “Underwear too.”
She turned slightly, to glare at him over her shoulder. Her gaze nearly gutted him. He’d never seen such deep green. Hell, he’d never seen eyes actually snap. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Everything. We can’t take a chance.” He knew, if he wanted to track someone, he’d make sure he had trackers everywhere, in everything. They were small enough now that it was possible to plant them in seams of clothing, shoe heels, barrettes. They were small enough someone who wasn’t looking for them would never notice them.
The woman huffed a heavy sigh and slipped off her panties—and God, what a sight that was. From the back, yeah, but in the mirror on the wall, even better. He felt like a creep for peeping, but pushed the heated thought away. He had to watch. To be sure.
Right?
She covered up far too quickly for his liking, but it was probably for the best because he was starting to feel a little antsy.
“Bra too.”
She shot him another glare, but complied.
He didn’t look in the mirror.
Much.
But it was enough to memorize her perfection.
It was a fucking shame the circumstances weren’t different, because he could have spent a month staring at those tits. A year.
She caught his gaze in the glass and her eyes widened. “Are you watching?” She whipped around, just as she pulled the sweatshirt down. “Are you fucking watching?”
He grumbled something that sounded like an outraged, of course not.
“Perv.”
Heat prickled his neck but he ignored it. He tried to ignore how cute she was in the too-large outfit as well.
She stomped over to her purse and started shoving things back in. “You won’t need that stuff,” he said, pulling it out of her grip.
“What?” God, she was magnificent in her outrage. He had no idea why he was infused with the sudden urge to cause more. He wasn’t a mean person, didn’t revel in poking an angry bear, and he really needed her to cooperate with him, but hell, he wanted to get a rise out of her. He wasn’t sure why.
He picked up her cell phone and snapped it in half.
Her mouth dropped open—oh, the thoughts that sight engendered—and she stared and the mangled device. “What…? Why…?”
He leveled her with a speaking glance. “You know. Everything else in here is probably bugged too.”
“I need my wallet.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I need my ID.”
“No. You don’t.” How could he explain to her that she’d never be Michelle Parsons again? “You need nothing. Just the file. Grab it and let’s go.” It had been less than two minutes since he arrived, but the man he’d pummeled had to have a partner somewhere, probably waiting in the parking garage or on the roof. He had no doubt they’d have company soon. When she hesitated, he gave his watch a meaningful glance.
She stared at him for a second. Her gaze flickered, as though she were contemplating…something. Then she grumbled, “Oh, all right,” and crossed to her briefcase, opened it and extracted a manila envelope marked CLASSIFIED—EYES ONLY.
Seriously? A classified document in an unlocked briefcase? What was the world coming to?
Benedict took the envelope from her and folded it, then tucked it into a pocket on the leg of his fatigues. He ignored her glare. It was getting easier. She glared a lot.
He picked up the other man’s Sig and tucked it into the back of his pants, then pocketed the KA-BAR too. “Ready?” he asked as he took her arm.
She yanked free. “Yes.”
“Let’s go. Stay behind me.”
He should have expected she would forge ahead.
He grabbed her arm again as she launched through the door, heading for the elevators, and turned her toward the stairs instead. An elevator was nothing more than a glorified cage. An ambush in the making. “This way,” he said. His tone was hardly even indomitable.
There was no need for her to glower as she did.
But she did.
Just who the hell did he think he was?
Michelle shot him a dark frown as they made their way down the hall toward the staircase, but he seemed impervious. In fact, he seemed impervious to everything. Despite the fact he’d been in a hellacious fight with a trained killer and had cuts and scratches—and maybe a cracked rib judging from the fall he’d taken, he just pushed on.
He eased open the door to the staircase and peered in, listening for movement. When he was satisfied, he gestured her through. She hesitated. “Who are you?” she asked.
He frowned at her. “Hush.”
She sent him a mutinous look. “I’m trusting you. I think I deserve to know.”
“I’m no one. I’m nothing. I’m a ghost.”
Something in his expression, something in his words hit her and hit her hard. She’d known men like him. Warriors who existed for no one and nothing but their cause. And while the realization of who and what he was made her heart twang in her chest with an incongruous regret, she knew this was the kind of man she needed to survive right now.
So she nodded and followed his lead.
Moving as quickly and as quietly as they could, they whipped down the seventeen floors to street level. He didn’t stop there. He continued on to the garage.
Michelle glanced at him and annoyance pricked in her. “I hope you have a car,” she said, only wincing a little when her voice echoed through the stairwell. “Because you made me leave my keys upstairs.”
He glowered. “Hush.”
She lifted a shoulder. “Just sayin’.”
In a rush, he backed her against the cold cinderblock wall and plastered his body against hers, clapping his hand over her mouth. Shocking, the heat of him on one side and the coolness on the other.
“Shut. Up,” he hissed.
She hated being cornered, hated being covered. She wriggled against him in a fit of rebellion, arching her hips in an attempt to make him back away, but she only succeeded on noticing how hard he was…everywhere.
He lifted his head and stared into her eyes. His breath washed over her face. “There may be another one waiting in the garage. Please do shut the fuck up.”
He waited until his words sank in, waited until she nodded, before he moved. But he didn’t release her. Not right away. He gave her one more nudge with his rock hard pelvis, one designed to illustrate his strength, or the strength of his arousal.
When he was certain she’d noticed, when he was sure she’d gotten the message that he was bigger and stronger and easily roused, he finally edged back.
There was no need for him to place a finger on his lips. She’d gotten the message, but good.
He scuttled toward the door to the parking garage and flattened himself to the side of it, then peered through the grimy window. When he was certain there was no one there, he held up his palm. “Wait here,” he mouthed.
Wait here?
The fuck.
He pulled the Sig from his waistband and slipped through the door, holding the weapon high and quartering the garage. Michelle watched through the window, prickling with anticipation. She wanted to get out of here…now. She should just follow him. She should just ignore his order—pretend to misunderstand, or some shit—and follow him. She didn’t like being alone in this creepy stairwell. And for all that she couldn’t trust this guy completely, she kind of did.
The attack, when it came, was unexpected. A dark form barreled from the shadows and knocked her escort to the ground.
Michelle’s heart lodged in her throat. Her first instinct was to leap into the fray, to join the fight, and then she realized, she might just be in the way. Also, if her escort lost—and how that thought ripped into her gut—then she would need to run. She should run now, but she couldn’t look away.
The two men fought and rolled over the filthy oil-stained cement of the garage, battling for supremacy. First one was on top, then the other. They were both wearing black and through the smudged window, she couldn’t tell which was which.
A boom echoed in the cavernous space, even rattling the window. The two men stilled. The one on top slumped to the side. Fell.
The other pushed him off and stood, brushing himself off.
Oh God. Was that…? Did he…?
She couldn’t see. She couldn’t tell.
Without thought, she ran to the stairs and ducked beneath them, where the bottom flight formed a cave of sorts. She curled herself into a ball and sucked in a deep breath.
Her pulse pounded in her ears. Her lungs ached. Sweat beaded her brow.
The door opened with a clang. “Michelle?” Was that his voice? She couldn’t tell. “Michelle?”
His footsteps on the stairs. One. Two. A pause and then two more…
And then a face appeared from above.
She stared. Unable to speak. Unable to move. Unable to breathe.
It was him. Relief gushed through her.
Thank God it was him.
He came around and hunkered down and reached out a hand. It was large, she noticed. Large and strong, “Come on. It’s safe now.”
And God. Dear God.
What wonderful words. What a beautiful voice. What a magnificent man.
She had no idea why it annoyed her so much.
Benedict led Michelle to his truck, a beat up Chevy he’d rented from a discount dealer for his visit to DC. It was a far cry from the kind of vehicle he preferred to drive, but it was nondescript and dependable.
She glanced around the deserted garage; her brow wrinkled. “Where’d he go?”
He frowned at her and opened the door. “Get in the back.”
“Where’d he go?” Her gaze fixated on the red puddle on the cement.
Good God, she was stubborn. “I could hardly leave him lying there. Now come on. Get in the back.”
She made a face. “I hate sitting in the back.”
“Good. You won’t be sitting.”
He loved the look she sent him, all outraged and shit. “What do you mean?”
“Get in and lay down in the well. I’ll cover you with my bags.”
“I’m not luggage.”
“You are if you want to get out of here unspotted.”
That shut her up. Kind of. She still grumbled to herself as she levered up into the truck and settled on the floor. “It smells back here.” Her voice was muffled. He ignored her and tossed his duffel from the seat onto her. She oofed. “What’s in there?”
“Skivvies. Now, be quiet. Once we get out of town and I’m sure no one’s following us, you can sit up front.”
“Well, thank God for small favors.”
Damn, she was prickly. Benedict couldn’t help smiling as he hopped into the truck and gunned the engine. It wasn’t lost on him that he was smiling. It happened far too rarely. It made the muscles of his face ache.
He tugged on a baseball cap and a checkered shirt before he backed out. If someone was watching the exit to the garage looking for a special ops type, a good old boy might escape their notice. Still, he was alert and diligent as he pulled out onto the street, making note of each and every car in the flow of traffic.
He didn’t relax until they were heading south on 295 toward Bolling Field. It was dark and quiet and at this hour, few cars were on the road. It made it easier for him to check for a tail. He pulled off the freeway several times, just to make sure no one followed.
“Where are we going?” He winced as her voice rose from the back.
“Quiet.”
“I want to know where we’re going.”
“They could be listening.”
“We’re miles away from my apartment. Long-range mics need line of sight.”
“Not all mics. They can listen in on conversations from satellites, if conditions are right.”
She huffed an impatient breath. “I am aware of that, but we’re in a car. They can’t follow a target moving this quickly.”
He shot a glance over his shoulder. How did she know that? And damn, she was right. Still, he muttered, “Yet.” They were probably close to that capability, based on his research.
“Well, we’re not running from bad guys in the future.” In addition to being an expert on surveillance tech, she apparently had a black belt in sarcasm. He had no idea why his lips quirked.
“So where are we going?”
“An airfield to the south.”
“An airfield? Where are we going from there?”
He shot a look at her. “It’s better if you don’t know.”
“I want to know.”
“I’m sure you do, but it’s classified.”
She snorted and muttered under her breath, “Nothing is classified.”
“This is classified.”
“Who do you work for?”
He liked the way she changed tacks, as though she thought by keeping him off balance she could get him to spill something. “An organization.”
“Are you with the FBI? NSA? CIA?” She tracked his reaction to each one. “Black Ops?” He must have winced because she sat back and murmured, “Ah. Black Ops.”
“I am not Black Ops.”
“Then who do you work for?”
“It’s classified.”
“You have to tell me something.”
“Do I?”
“I’m not getting on a plane with you until I know you’re not one of them.”
“One of them?”
She waved a hand. “One of the bad guys.”
“I can tell you this. I work for a team that has one goal. Finding and killing Babikov.”
She stilled.
“Yeah. The douchebag you’re carrying intel on.” He tried to remain unemotional, but the snarl came out. Apparently, his animosity interested her. She scooted forward and leaned her arms on the seat back, propping her chin on them. She should sit back. She should be wearing her seatbelt. He knew if he suggested as much, she’d ignore him, so he didn’t bother.
“Why do you hate him?” she asked.
“I don’t hate him.” A boldfaced lie. “He’s my mission.”
“You hate him. I hear it in your voice. Why?”
He frowned at her. And then, at the same time, they both said, “It’s classified.”
She chuckled. “Right. I can’t trust a man if I don’t understand his motivations. Pull over and drop me off at the nearest gas station. I can thumb a ride with a trucker.”
Horror at the prospect curled through him. “I’m not dropping you off at a gas station. And you’re not thumbing a ride with a trucker.”
“It makes perfect sense.”
He gaped at her. “No. It doesn’t.”
“They would never expect me to thumb a ride with a trucker.”
Was she insane? Had he somehow gotten tangled up with a mad woman? “You’re safer with me.”
“Says you.”
“Yeah. Says me.” Were they in third grade? And why the ever loving hell was he enjoying this battle? What was wrong with him? He should tie her up and gag her.
Well, fuck. The thought of tying her up did something nasty to the coils of his bowels. His pulse surged at the nastier visions flickering through his imagination.
“I don’t know you, Mister Ghost. I don’t even know your name. Why should I trust you?”
“Because I saved your ass back there in your apartment?”
“I was doing fine when you arrived.”
“Right. With a blade a second from severing your jugular.”
“I had him right where I wanted him.”
He had no idea why he barked a laugh. Probably because she was as brash and fearless as he was. Probably because they were very much alike. Too much alike for comfort, really. “My mission,” he said in a firm tone, “is to get you, and your intel, safely to HQ—”
“In an undisclosed location.”
“Right. I’ve saved you twice now—”
“Twice?”
“The dude in your apartment.” He held up one finger. “And the dude in the garage.” A second.
“We don’t even know the dude in the garage was after me.”
“Seriously?”
“He could have been a mugger.”
“He wasn’t a mugger!” God damn it. Had he thought her funny? Had he thought her like him? She was annoying. A pest. A… He caught sight of her in the rear view mirror. Her amused expression lanced him. With annoyance, yes but lust as well.
Motherfucker. She was playing him like a fiddle.
“Aside from all that, I suspect you’re a perv.” This, she said in a soft, teasing tone.
“I’m not a perv.”
“You made me strip.”
“You were covered with trackers.”
“You watched.”
“I needed to make sure we got them all.”
“Do you suppose there was one up my ass?”
“Do you want me to check?”
That shut her up. It was a long while before she said, “You rubbed your erection against me.”
“I did not.” His neck heated.
“You did too. Back there, in the stairwell. I felt it.”
Prickles danced on his spine. “I was not rubbing my erection against you. I was trying to make you shut up.”
“Is that how you make a woman shut up?” A coo. “Rub your cock against her?”
“The idea has merit.” Oh yeah. He could visualize just the thing. The perfect way to make her shut up. Probably not a good idea while he was driving. He swerved into the other lane and the car occupying it blared a horn at him.
“Oh, nice. Kill us all.”
Or her. Maybe.
“Don’t say that word when I’m driving.”
“Cock?”
He flinched.
“Cock, cock, cock?”
Yeah. Third grade. He fell silent because it was the only thing worth saying.
They drove in silence for a long, long while. At length she said, and said softly, “Why do you hate Babikov?” And he had to answer. Had to respond, though his answer was choked.
“He killed a bunch of my friends, all right? Is that good enough for you?”
She didn’t answer right away. At long last, she set her hand on his shoulder and whispered. “Yeah. Yeah it is. I’m…sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
And then, in that one silent peaceful moment between them, a bullet shattered the back window and slammed into the dash.