CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Damn it,” he muttered more to himself than to Shea. “I can’t get into Murphy’s laptop. This thing’s password protected.”

“Want me to hack into it for you?” she teased, her pretty brows lifted and that sugary-sweet, I-told-you-so-smirk tweaking her cheek. “I could, you know.” One delicate brow arched.

“Yes, damn it.” Eric handed the device over with a grumble. “I’d like to be on top of all the Tattle Tale feeds as soon as Murphy activates them.”

Her fingertips were tapping before it settled to her lap. “Just what are these Tattle Tales you guys keep talking about?”

“Miniscule listening and video devices. Mother’s inventions. She’s a genius, you know.” And so are you, he thought as his wife’s very capable fingers worked magic on the keyboard.

“Ha. I should’ve guessed. What is it with you guys?” Shea handed the laptop back. “His password is as easy to break as yours. It’s Moira911.”

Coughing to mask his own internal sap, Eric keyed in the offending code—then entered it again because he’d fat-fingered it the first time.

Speak of the devil. Murphy ducked from the cover of the nearest tree, hot footing it to his truck. Shea slid out of the driver’s seat to make room as he climbed in, panting but excited. “You haven’t fired that gizmo up yet?”

“I’m working on it.” Eric hit ENTER—again— and waited the prerequisite split second for the machine to boot up. “You want to do it?”

“Nah.” Murphy pulled his arms out of his jacket sleeves. “I worked up a sweat hightailing it back here before the sun got any higher. You go ahead.”

“Anyone follow you?”

“Nope, but I found Jordan. He kept my cover, but now he knows we’re coming back.”

“How is he?” Shea asked. “Are they taking care of him? Where’s Rosie? The poor cabbie?”

Murphy pulled at his chin, now covered in gray stubble. “Sorry, but your friend and the cabbie aren’t there. I’m hoping these Tattle Tales will tell us where Carlson’s got them stashed, but yeah, Jordan’s okay. He’s got one arm in a sling, and he’s tied to a chair in the suite next to Carlson’s. He wasn’t bleeding, but he’s mad. I hated getting his hopes up only to leave him, but now he knows. Don’t worry, he can handle it.”

Eric knew better. Protective custody didn’t include restraining an injured man. Maneuvering through the on-screen windows, he activated the app to monitor his buddy. Four smaller windows flashed onto the monitor.

Murphy leaned around Shea to point out, “See there? I only had time to place four Tattle Tales. One’s at the side-entrance to the castle. One’s in the hall. The last two are inside Carlson’s suite. Should give us what we need.”

“How did you get inside?” Shea asked, peering over Eric’s shoulder.

“Easy. These rooms are all high-tech. After I, ahem, requisitioned one of the universal remotes for the rooms, I activated Carlson’s sunblind. After a few minutes of listening to them argue because it kept going up and down, I knocked and asked if they were having trouble.”

“You were probably wearing a staff uniform by then, too, weren’t you?” Eric asked.

“Well, sure.” Murphy tapped the monitor with his index finger. “One Tattle Tale is aimed at Carlson’s bed. And that one—”

“I see him.” The other Tattle Tale revealed Jordan. “You’re right. He doesn’t look happy.”

“They’ve got him tied to the chair,” Shea said, her voice tight, but Eric had other things on his mind. Like why the black eye? Why did it look as if Jordan couldn’t sit still to save his life? Was he worried? In pain? Or scared?

Eric should’ve known better than to watch too long.

“Don’t,” Jordan croaked as he tipped back in the chair. “I’ve got nothing more to say.”

A wide, muscular back covered the screen. “But you do,” Carlson said, “and I want it all. The pass codes, addresses, and bank account numbers, if you’ve got them. Every last thing you can tell me about Alex Stewart and the two-bit, black op service he runs.”

“Never,” Jordan hissed. “I don’t betray my f-f-friends.”

“Stewart’s your buddy, huh?” Carlson finally stepped away from the Tattle Tale and into view. The man was wearing a suit. One of his guards already stood beside Jordan’s chair. “Then why hasn’t he sent one of his famous teams to save you? Or are you one of those expendables he purchases by the dozen?”

Jordan’s gaze jolted from Carlson to the guard, just as the Frenchman stabbed a hypodermic needle into his thigh. “I won’t talk,” he ground out just before his body went slack.

“They’re hurting him,” Shea whispered.

Eric slammed the cover shut. Time to go. “Murph, keep my girl safe. I’ll be back.”

“Watch your step, young man,” Murphy warned. “I’ll be watching you.”

“Promise me one thing,” Eric said as he turned to Shea. “You won’t wear that damned red dress.”

She nodded, her eyes wide and bright. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I’ll be back before you know it, and I’m bringing Jordan with me.”

She flung herself against him, but he only had time for a quick kiss.

“Be safe,” she said quietly as she released him. “I’ll be here for you.”

He smiled. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to hear those words? Trust me. I’m coming back as fast as I can.”

The problem with marrying a USMC medic? They tended to forget they could also get shot. Or killed. Pressing her palm to the center of her chest, Shea willed the rising panic in her heart away, but it had a good, strong hold. The ugly scenes from the university lab and the bathroom in her flat replayed in her mind until she needed to scream. Or run after Eric.

She glanced at Murphy, not sure which he could handle, the tears or the noise. Stifling both, she slid into Eric’s empty place, still warm from his body heat.

“He’s running,” Murphy advised. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the monitor since Eric slammed the truck door.

Shea leaned over to watch the screen, but Murphy tilted it sideways so she couldn’t see it. He’d also stopped chatting except for a rare update. Shea couldn’t take the suspense. Another man was being tortured because of her. She couldn’t catch a decent breath. Or swallow. Or think.

“Tell me,” she ordered. “What are they doing?”

Murphy shook his head. “He’s not bleeding, but they’re rough on him. Whatever they shot him full of has made him cooperative, but you don’t need to see this.”

Biting her lip, Shea turned to the window. Damn Eric for being the noble one. For always putting himself last. For caring about people and acting like he was the only one who could help. Others could be just as helpful. He didn’t always have to run to the rescue.

“I’m wearing that dress,” she said vehemently. “If they even try to hurt Eric, I’m putting that dress on and I’m marching straight into that masquerade party and—”

“Honey, we don’t even know if Carlson plans to attend the ball.”

“I could find out.”

Murphy closed the laptop and turned to face her. “I know this is hard, but let’s let Eric do his job before we unleash the power of an angry woman, okay?”

“But he’s walking into trouble.” Maybe death!

“But you need to understand that your husband has a talent most other guys don’t. I recognized it when I met him. He doesn’t exactly walk on water, but he comes pretty damned close.”

Tears flooded her eyes at this calm conversation. “Why is it always him?” she asked, hating that her voice sounded whiny instead of strong.

Murphy’s lips curled with a tender smile. “Because Eric knows how to read people, Shea. He cuts through the chaff and gets to their heart of gold, if it’s gold they’ve got. He can also detect a liar quicker than a fox can gobble up a field mouse. Just wait. Your husband’s one in a million.”

She sniffed. I know that.

“So how long have you two been married?”

“A little over eight years.”

“Then why am I just finding out now?” he asked, his hand gentle on her shoulder.

“Because I... I...” Gradually, the story came out.

Murphy paused twice to provide an update to Eric’s progress, and Shea didn’t go into great detail, but by the time the telling was over, Murphy knew enough. He never batted an eye.

“We all go through fires in our lives, Shea. It’s the way we’re made and the road we’re on. There isn’t a one of us coming out of this life without a few bruises and hard knocks.”

“Yes, but, I hurt him.” And now I’ll get my just reward, to live alone like I thought I wanted two years ago. It seemed the ultimate justice, Karma’s tit-for-tat.

“Seems to me that bothers you a helluva lot more than it bothers him,” Murphy said. “Hold on.” He snapped the laptop cover up, his jaw cut into a hard angle. “He’s at the castle.”

Shea held her breath.

Murphy pursed his lips, his finger to his ear, but no status report was forthcoming.

Shea couldn’t bear to watch—or not to watch.

“Sonofabitch.” Murphy wiped one hand over his face. “That was close.”

“What?”

Murphy held one palm to her face. “Shhhhh. I can’t hear.”

Damn it. What’s happening?

“He’s inside, but Carlson’s men were wise to him. They must’ve gotten Jordan to talk.”

Panic sidled into the seat alongside Shea. “What now?”

Murphy slammed the laptop cover closed with a resounding snap. “They’ve got him. Damn it to hell, they’ve got him. They knew he was coming. Where’s that dress?”