Charlie ignored the glowering man following her into the hotel suite and headed straight to her laptop. It had no sooner booted to life than they got a video summons from Stone back at headquarters. Charlie clicked it open and immediately noticed their boss wasn’t alone. Agent Dennison, Alpha’s DHS contact, sat next to him.
“What the fuck are the two of you doing?” Dennison roared, red-faced and livid. “It’s been less than a week, and two more fucking girls have been taken. Where’s the intel we need to put Franconi away?”
“We don’t have it,” Charlie said simply, “and our first job was to find information on the missing girls. We’re getting closer.”
“Not goddamn close enough.”
Suddenly, Vince popped up at Charlie’s shoulder. “Did you get a positive I.D. on the girl taken tonight?”
Stone intervened, glancing down at a file. “Logan started looking the second you called me from the car. Marie Perry had no military background except for the fact that she grew up within five miles of Fort Hood. She used to tend bar at one of the local watering holes before she packed up and moved to Florida about a year ago. Since then, Miami’s become her favorite weekend getaway spot.”
“There’s got to be something else,” Charlie ground out, getting more frustrated by the second.
“Yeah, fucking Franconi,” Dennison growled.
“Arturo doesn’t even own Sinful Delights. It’s run entirely by his daughter.”
“Then we’ll bring her the fuck in. Truthfully, I don’t fucking care who gets fitted for the handcuffs as long as Franconi is the surname.”
“And what? To hell with the missing girls?” Charlie looked like she wanted the power to pull a Freddy Krueger through the damn computer screen. “I didn’t risk everything I’ve built in my life so you could stamp ‘case closed’ on a bloody file! I came here to stop these bastards from taking girls and finding the ones who’ve already been abducted!”
“Let’s get one thing clear, Miss Sparks.” Dennison leaned closer to the screen. “We contacted you to make something happen. Focus on that, and let the big boys do what we’re supposed to do.”
Beside her, Vince muttered a curse. He opened his mouth to come to her defense, but stopped at Charlie’s subtle head-shake. “Stone?”
“Yeah?” Their boss stood still, arms crossed as if he knew what was about to come out of her mouth.
“Is my job in jeopardy if I tell Dennison to go screw a light fixture?” Charlie asked.
Stone covered a laugh behind a not-very-convincing cough. “Not a fucking chance. Do what you need to do, Charlie—for the girls. And watch your backs.”
Dennison turned on Stone, red-faced and fuming. “Now wait one damn min—”
Charlie cut off the secure feed and took a deep breath. “I really can’t stand that man.”
Vince planted his palms on either side of her face and hauled her in for a hot, hard kiss. And he didn’t let either one of them up for air until his chest ached like a bitch.
When he finally released her, Charlie panted, raising her brow in question. “You’re getting a little free with your lips there.”
“Damn straight I fucking am.” He didn’t let go of her cheeks. “Screw a light fixture?”
A smirk danced on her lips, and she shrugged. “I would’ve told him to screw a meat grinder but I thought that was going a hair too far.”
Vince swallowed a chuckle and gestured to her abdomen. “We need to get that cut cleaned.”
“Just give me one second.”
Charlie was already pulling away, bringing up the cross-referencing software she’d been developing over the last year. It wasn’t up to full snuff yet. It had a few kinks that needed to be smoothed with an industrial-sized iron, but at this point in the case, she’d risk being led in the wrong direction if it bumped up their chances—even a little bit—of being steered in the right one.
“English…” Vince waited impatiently, squeezing the bridge of his nose as if searching for control.
“Hold on. I need to do one more thing.”
“You can’t do jack shit if you bleed out.”
“The bleeding stopped before we even got to the truck, Mr. Melodrama. You’re going to give yourself a raging ulcer by the time you’re forty if you keep this up.” She started plugging keywords and names into the program, making sure not to leave one thing out. That meant all their known abductees, Sinful Delights, Arturo, even Tina and Brock—anyone and anything that had anything to do with Miami went into that damn search engine.
“English,” Vince warned.
“One more minute.”
“I gave you ten. Time’s up.” Cupping her elbow, he firmly steered her away from her computer and toward the couch. “Sit down.”
“But the program—”
“Runs without you watching it, right? It’ll tell us if it gets any hits.” One deep breath from either of them would push their bodies together. He stared, no hint of humor or understanding or patience written anywhere on his face. “Are you planting your sweet ass, or am I going to have to sit on you?”
She glanced over to the couch in question, seeing he’d already cleaned off the coffee table, making room for the assortment of first-aid supplies spread across the surface. “Jesus. Do you think you’re performing surgery or something?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and stared her down, his silence speaking a thousand words. He wasn’t going to back off.
“Fine,” she grumbled. “But your bedside manner sucks. Elle needs to give you lessons on how a nurse treats her patients.”
“Good thing I’m not a nurse.”
Charlie reluctantly settled on the couch as Vince perched himself on the edge of the coffee table. His hands, steady and sure, gently prodded the reddened area surrounding the three-inch cut.
“Half the gash is underneath your corset. The leather probably made the difference between a few butterfly bandages and being gutted like a fish.”
“Hear, hear for leather bustiers,” Charlie joked.
“You’re going to have to take off your top so I can clean it and see exactly what we’re dealing with.”
“I think we’ve proven you don’t have to talk me into taking my clothes off around you. It seems to happen naturally.”
Vince didn’t smile.
“Man…tough room.”
As Charlie unhooked her top, Vince worked way too hard at prepping cotton ball swabs with Betadine—and not looking in her direction until her top was off and he’d handed her one of his shirts. She murmured a “Thanks” and tugged it on before rolling it up to expose her midriff. “The girls are restrained now, so it’s safe to look.”
Her comment should’ve gotten at least a single-lip twitch. But he was all business inspecting the wound. “We’ll clean this and butterfly it. I think we can get away without stitches, but we should have Shay call in a script for antibiotics.”
For once, Charlie agreed. God only knew where that thug’s knife had previously been. “I’ll call her when you’re done.”
Vince gently dragged the first cotton ball over her torso. For a man with hands as large as dinner plates, he was surprisingly gentle. She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until her head went a little foggy. After a slow inhale, Vince’s glaze slid up to hers.
“You okay?” he asked, voice hefty with concern.
“Never better.”
A blatant lie, but she wasn’t about to admit her head was swirling with a bit more than confusion. About everything. The missing girls. About her uncle. Tina. The club. Brock. Vince—and their heart-to-heart talk about his SEAL team that had somehow led to an argument. Having his hands on her wasn’t helping to clarify any of it.
Vince took his time, like he did with everything else, and Charlie couldn’t help but watch as he finished up by taping a gauzy bandage into place.
“Done.” His gaze flickered up to hers. Green. His hazel eyes turned more emerald as they studied her face.
“Thanks for the patch-up.” As mesmerizing as those eyes were, Charlie looked away and stood, turning back to the computer.
But so did Vince.
One corded arm banded around her back and held her captive against him. “Are we going to talk about what happened back at the club?”
From this close, she couldn’t help but look at his mouth, extremely near and well within kissing distance.
“Or what happened here before?” Vince added.
“I already updated you in the car,” she said, referring to her explanation that someone had purposefully screwed with Sinful Delights’ security system. “Tina may be a lot of things, but a good liar isn’t one of them. She was genuinely shocked and more than a little fearful at the idea of her club being used as a hunting ground for traffickers. If she’s involved with the abductions, other than being the unfortunate scapegoat, I’ll hand my resignation in to Stone now.”
“No, you’re right. And you’re also right in that Arturo doesn’t seem like a likely candidate. We need to think about who would have the most to gain by making your uncle seem guilty…and who had the technical know-how.”
Charlie sensed he was trying to tell her something without saying it aloud. “Which is what I’m hoping to figure out with the program you pulled me away from.”
Using her superior avoidance tactics, Charlie slipped by Vince, ignoring his penetrating stare as she dropped in front of the computer. She hadn’t expected any hits yet…but a girl could hope.
“What do you want me to do?” Vince finally asked from across the room.
She shrugged. “Nothing. The program’s running, including the BOLO out on the van, but without a plate number, it’s going to be practically impossible to track. Everyone from plumbers to flower shops to soccer moms has a commercial van.”
Surprisingly, Vince didn’t argue. He changed in the bedroom and came out wearing a dangerously loose pair of gym shorts and no shirt. He glanced around at the furniture pushing the coffee table out of the way and opening up the space in the middle of the room.
Charlie eyed him curiously. His muscles shifted and tightened as he stretched his body into different poses. Each would have looked like a fighting stance if he’d blend them together and sped it up a million times faster. Performed in slow, melting glides, it looked like a seductive dance.
Personally, other than the beauty of watching it, she didn’t see how tai chi did a damn thing to decrease stress. Punching. Kicking. Knife-throwing. Those were the things that built up a good sweat—and yet it took only a few minutes for Vince’s chest to build up a dewy glow.
Had it only been twenty-four hours since she’d had all that muscle above her? And under her? Inside her?
Charlie turned her attention to the computer. Vans, thugs, missing girls, she chanted to herself. She’d have time to picture Vince naked later and, before she realized it, time had passed and she couldn’t turn her head more than twenty degrees without cringing from the sharp pain shooting through her neck.
“Come here,” Vince called from his spot in the middle of the room.
“I can’t throw my computer across the room if I come over there,” Charlie grumbled. An hour of continuous searching, and she had as much info as when she’d started. Stupid-bloody-program.
“That’s exactly why I told you to get your British ass over here.” Vince beckoned her with a crooked finger. “You’re not going to do anyone any favors by stressing yourself out.”
“How is going over there going to do anything either?” she quipped.
“You can work off a little steam.”
“A punching bag would help me work off a little steam, not that slow-dancing business. I can’t find the van. I can’t find the men. And I can’t even find the girl…which should be the easiest task of all, considering I can’t get her face out of my bloody head.”
This time, Vince gave her the full brunt of his attention. His chest, dripping moisture, looked positively lickable. “Being hard on yourself isn’t going to make it happen any faster. You need a break. Get over here.”
She shook her head. “It’s not going to work.”
“Humor me, sweetheart.”
She glared at him. He glowered back, hands on his trim hips. His stance almost looked comical, and she was ready to fire off a snappy remark when he took a step toward her.
“Okay, fine!” She stood, lifting her hands in surrender. “But I don’t know how to do this.”
“Mimic me, and you’ll pick it up in no time.” She stood at his shoulder and waited. “And it would help if you would erase the scowl off your face.”
“I just don’t get it.” Charlie widened her stance to match Vince’s.
He pushed his arm out, elbow barely bent, and released a deep breath. She mimicked him.
“Don’t get what?”
“You’re a former SEAL. A team leader. You’re a demo expert, which means you like to blow things up. None of those things requires elegance and poise.”
“Tai chi isn’t ballet, although it does help with your balance and agility. It’s also a great way to regain control and pinpoint your concentration. And babe, yours is all over the place.”
“That happens when I can’t do my bloody job,” she muttered under her breath. A little more loudly, she said, “And playing Karate Kid isn’t going to help me do it.”
“Ten minutes. If you’re not feeling the slightest bit calmer in ten minutes, then I’ll let you go back to killing yourself hunched over the bloody computer.”
She glared at him for using her own curse word. “Fine. Deal.”
At first, she watched the clock, begging it to tick quicker so she could get back to work. But after five minutes, her breathing had eased, as had the weight on her shoulders. Unfortunately, the movements didn’t come any more naturally to her. She tried mimicking Vince, but the harder she tried, the worse she got.
“I can’t do this,” she growled, letting her hands drop.
“Yes, you can.” Vince eased her in front of him. His chest pushed against her back, and the heat radiating off his massive body soaked into her skin, making her shiver.
His large hands settled on her hips, and his mouth hovered an inch above her ear. “You’re thinking too much instead of letting your body go with the movement.”
His palms slid up her arms. The touch shouldn’t have been sensual. Wearing his oversized T-shirt, the thing so baggy it slid off her left shoulder, she wasn’t dressed to seduce—or be seduced. Yet it was happening. Vince slowly lifted her arms, trailing his fingertips as he guided her into movement.
This defeated the purpose of relaxation techniques because she’d never been more hyperaware of someone’s close proximity—or her reaction to it—than at that moment.
“Breathe,” he murmured against her ear. He slid their arms to the side. “Inhale through your nose. Exhale through your mouth. When you move your arms out, use your muscles to push them away from your body. You want each movement to glide into the next. In one. Seamless. Motion.”
Closing her eyes, Charlie inhaled and tried focusing. It started working until the stress of the night began seeping back into her thoughts. Images from the alley played in her head. The fight. The gun. The innocent girl. The months—hell, years—of vigorous training had taught her how to bring down some of the hardest men that had come out of the military, yet she’d gotten bested by a pair of street thugs.
Vince’s hands tracked down the length of her torso. “Empty your mind, English. I can practically hear you thinking aloud. Turn it all off except for the movement of your body.”
Words of failure didn’t often grace Charlie’s vocabulary, but this was one of the few times it did. She dropped her hands to her side, flustered. “I can’t help it. I can’t. That girl’s now going to be subjected to God only knows what, and doing this isn’t going to bloody help her.”
“We’re going to get her back,” Vince said, sounding sure. “We’re going to get them all back and we’re going to nail the bastards responsible.”
“But not quickly enough.”
Behind her, Vince sighed, but didn’t move. “Change of tactic it is.”
Before she could ask him what he meant, one wide palm slid beneath her shirt, flattening against her stomach, while his mouth slowly slid up the curve of her exposed neck.
“What are you doing?” Her voice caught on the question, turning into a soft moan.
“If you refuse to turn off your mind, I’m going to give you something else to focus on.”