Chapter Forty-Five

Reveling in her new future, Suede was thrilled that the worst was behind her. She’d worked all night and the Sinclair’s freezer was now stocked with a hearty supply of Texas Meatballs, Greek Beef Kabobs, a tender, succulent barbecued venison shoulder, and enough chicken tamales to feed an army. Tension radiated down her neck to her lower back from standing too long, but she’d finally found her niche in the world, and it was definitely in Chance’s kitchen.

Gallo whined at the door, poor baby. He’d been patient while she’d finished wiping the counter and loading the dishwasher, but those big brown eyes begged for relief.

“You are the cutest baby boy,” she told him as she tossed her cloth into the sink and stretched her arms back, elbow to elbow. Hard work had transformed her worry into action and being busy eased her mind. Chance was no dummy. Wherever he’d gone, he’d be back before she knew it. No need to fret.

Who was she kidding? Suede shook her head at that idiotic straight-out-of-the-fifties thought. She’d worry about that man until he was home again. “I’m coming,” she told Gallo.

Big brown eyes followed her, his tail marking her progress with louder thumps the closer she came. But Chance had taught her proper protocol when opening any exterior door to his cabin. Check first. Deactivate second. When in doubt, stay put. One did not just swing this door open and invite the world in. The fact that no beacons had pinged the earpiece she now wore should’ve been enough, but she followed the rules.

The monitor beside the door showed a complex grid of outside views. Sunlight bathed the snowy scenes as a mist of lightly falling snow sparkled like fairy dust in the air. “No one’s out there but Frosty the Snowman,” she told the anxious pup at her feet.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Suede pressed her palm to the pad beside the door. Chance had made sure her fingerprints and palm prints were in his security system days ago. His faith in her amazed Suede. They’d been together such a short time. She still needed to tell him how he’d boosted her confidence, trusting her like he did. It might seem like nothing to him, but it meant the world to her.

When the system came back with a lime green flash of ‘all clear’, Suede flipped the upper lock first, then the dead bolt. She waited the prerequisite number of seconds for it to slide out of locked position before turning the knob. Gallo was on his feet by then, his nose pointed at the door and ready to burst outside.

Suede opened the door to a pristine winter wonderland that Gallo quickly defiled with his big feet. It took him a series of leg lifts to finish his job while Suede watched from the door. “Don’t run away, buddy,” she told him.

Gallo cocked his head, those adorable puppy ears flopping and the cutest quizzical light in his eyes. He snapped up a mouthful of powder and tossed it as if he wanted to play.

“You want me to come outside too?” she asked, tempted to let loose and just be a kid for the first time in a long time. Not since Chance and that snow angel baby had she wanted to play in the snow, but Gallo seemed to be coaxing her to join him.

Stepping out onto the snow-covered porch, Suede bent over and grabbed a handful of snow to test its consistency. All powder. No staying power. “This stuff’s too light to make a snowman,” she told the dog, “but if you watch where you put those big feet of yours, I could make another snow angel.”

Wouldn’t Chance get a laugh out of that when he came home? Did she dare?

“Come,” Suede patted her knees to bring Gallo back into the house. “Let me get changed and we’ll play for awhile, okay?”

Gallo lifted his snout to the sky and grumbled, but he came bounding back. “Good boy,” she told him at the door. Then, because she was a fast change artist when it came to having fun in the snow, she closed the door and didn’t reset the alarm. There was no need. This wouldn’t take long.

*****

Chance sucked in a gut full of angst as his weapon snapped automatically on his target. Every sniper’s wet dream. Miss Victoria Hex in all her killer glory.

Dressed in thigh-high black leather boots with six-inch heels, her long legs ate up the distance. The matching leather skirt wrapped around her curvaceous hips looked more like a skimpy napkin from a stripper bar. Glossy black hair swung off her shoulders. She came at him like a mean girl strutting down freshman hall in high school, pink pistols holstered under her arms and that rifle in her hands on target. Him.

The too small, black leather jacket clutching her shoulders didn’t stand a prayer of covering her catch-me-if-you-can cleavage, her girls highlighted by a bright white tiny T that damn near glowed in the dark and further accentuated by the pink pistols holstered under her arms. Thick dark lashes kissed her high cheekbones when she stared past his rifle and winked. “You going to shoot me with that little pop gun?”

“Damn straight,” Chance growled, his weapon on target. “Give me one good reason not to. You shot my brother.”

Vicki Hex was an anomaly in a career field filled with mercenaries, psychos, and cruelty. She played by rules. Granted they were her rules and just as cold-blooded as any other murderer’s, but the lady had class. And a helluva lot of nerve.

With one last step, the butt stock of her piece landed on her hip, barrel pointed at the sky. Tendrils of yellow smoke licked up her boots and thighs, her long legs spread, her attitude as seductively misleading as the heroine out of a B movie. “I will give you two, Chief.” Her index finger came up, along with a long black fingernail. “First, I only winged Pagan. I could’ve killed him, but I didn’t.”

A cold finger of premonition streaked up his spine. Calling him Chief was no accident. She knew he was Navy property. What else did she know?

“You did this on purpose,” Pagan muttered, his bloodied right hand on his ass. “A butt shot’s not a wing shot.”

That bought him a subtle chin nod and a twitch of her nose. She tossed her head, her hair swirling over her kiss-me-killer-red lips. “But you’re still alive, aren’t you? To be honest, which I always am, I thought you were someone else. You Sinclair boys are fun to play with, but I’d never kill any of you three. If I’d known you were sneaking around behind Julio’s back, my love—”

“I’m not your love,” he bit out. “I don’t do skank.”

“Quiet,” Chance muttered, his weapon steady on the sassy dominatrix in his sights. “Who’d you think he was?”

She shook her head, her index fingers waggling from side to side. “My brother speaks highly of you. What a delicious name, Chance.” She licked her lips as if savoring the taste of it. “It speaks to me of long sweaty nights in Palermo. Of many goblets of crisp, golden Marsala.” The tip of her tongue made a slow, wet pass over her already glistening bottom lip. “Of, what is it you American’s call it, do-overs?”

“Can’t do over what never happened,” he growled. “Who were you following, damn it? Who’d you mean to kill when you shot my brother?”

A sensual smile curved her mouth as one perfectly shaped brow lifted. “My friend from Brazil has something I want.”

“Domingo Zapata? He’s here? Now?”

“Stop talking in riddles! What’s he got that you want?” Pagan snapped. “A decent scope for that pea shooter you’re packing?”

Chance shot his brother a quelling glance to shut up. Why the hell was he baiting Miss Hex?

Lifting her slender fingers to her mouth, she blew Pagan a kiss. “I am sorry I had to shoot you. Poor baby.”

“Wait,” Chance ordered. “You had to shoot Pagan? Why?”

“Yeah, why shoot me? If you’re here after Zapata, who’s Julio after?”

By then Miss Hex stood at the end of the alley. Another air-kiss drifted Pagan’s way. “Why, me, of course.”

“Stop talking in circles!” Chance bellowed before he lost sight of her, his pistol still trained on her head. He had a clear shot. He could take it if he wanted to. Mafia hitmen and women enjoyed no mercy on American streets. He’d be doing a public service to end her, but damn. A rock weighed heavy in his gut. Something was different with this particular song and dance. He lowered his rifle and decided to trust. “What’s Zapata got that you want, Vicki? Who are you really working for?” What the fuck’s going on?

Miss Hex pivoted, her butt stock still on her hip. She hesitated, her black eyes sharp and piercing, her lips suddenly thinned as if she had more to say. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I did.” Extending one hand, he went for broke. “Listen, I’m tired of chasing the wind. How about a truce? You share what you know. We’ll help you get Zapata and Juarez.”

Her chin came up and the calculating glare of a killer on the hunt was back. “Go home, Chief. Try not to worry. I don’t miss.” Like the smoke, Vicki Hex was gone.

“Damn, she’s one crazy bitch,” Pagan muttered.

Chance turned on his brother. “Did you hear what she said? She had to shoot you, not that she wanted to. Why? You were closing in on JJ, right?”

Pagan chuffed. “Damned straight. If you hadn’t called, I’d have had him, too.”

“If JJ’s after Zapata, and Hex is after JJ…” Chance took a knee beside his brother. “You were getting too close. That’s why she shot you, to keep you from killing JJ.”

“They’re in on this together. They’re both after Zapata. Why? And who the hell’s with Suede, Chance? You left her alone?”

Icy cold fear slammed into Chance. “Gallo.” My dog. My air-headed dog’s the only thing with her. His hand found his phone. “Pick up,” he ordered Suede. “Pick up!” But it never rang. He turned a bleak eye to his brother. “My phone’s dead.”

“It can’t be. It’s a sat-phone. We’re…” Pagan’s brows climbed up his forehead. “Shit. Zapata’s in Montana.”

Chance already had Woody on the line. “Need you now. Same location. Step on it.”

“Copy that. You got our boy?” Woody asked.

“Hurry! We’ve got trouble back home,” Chance explained, his gut twisted with the need to fly.

“Roger that. ETA in ten.”

Pagan dragged himself to his feet. He stood panting, his hands on his knees and as pale as Chance had never seen him before. “Sorry ’bout this.”

Shouldering his rifle, Chance shook Pagan’s apology off, more worried what Hex knew. What Zapata knew. “She’s in league with Zapata. That’s why she’s after JJ. Can you move?” He hadn’t yet treated Pagan’s wound, and he wasn’t going to now. “Where’s your rifle?”

“Last I knew, Hex took it.” Like the good troop he was, Pagan soldiered up. “I’m good. I can walk. Let’s roll.”

Together they made it to the pick-up point at the same time Woody dipped low out of the gathering fog the Columbia River was known for. The chopper’s skids had no more than kissed the edge of the dock when Chance shoved Pagan aboard and climbed in behind him. “Go!” he shouted over the rotor slap. Go faster. Suede’s alone with nothing but my dumb dog. Step on it!