CHAPTER FOUR
Winters rolled across the bed, drawing his Glock from his back holster. He pounded off two rounds, holstered it, and snagged his M4 assault rifle perched against the wall. He drew it up to his shoulder. The smooth metal and solid weight in his hands was grounding and washed away the awkward, apologetic mess he was earlier. He scanned through the scope, giving off short bursts of semi-automatic fire into the parking lot, in the direction the bullets came from.
Whoever was out there was messy. They should have been able to take both of them out with a clean shot. Hell, they should have gone after him first.
There. One man dropped. Another scrambled into an old Lincoln and screeched out onto the main drag.
Winters lowered the rifle down but held it close. Without the assistance of the scope, he scanned the parking lot again. Nothing else seemed out of place. Someone shouted from an adjoining room and gunpowder burned in the air.
“Dinner’s over. Come on. We need to roll out of here.” He yanked Mia’s arm, pulling her off the glass-covered carpet. She stood on shaking knees and nodded but remained frozen like a statue.
“Let’s go, Mia.” He reloaded his handgun with a quick slam of the magazine, threw the rifle over his shoulder, and tucked a combat knife into his boot. She still hadn’t moved. He wrapped his arm around her waist and carried her out the door.
He took one more look around, crossed to his truck, and put her in the passenger seat. She clutched the bag of clothes he’d bought for her. When the hell did she grab that? He rushed to his door, slammed the keys in the ignition, and squealed tires.
“Glad to see you appreciate my shopping.” She slowly turned toward him. “Time to give it up. What’s with the package?”
She shook and stared numbly out the vehicle’s tinted window. Her teeth chattered as if an arctic breeze blew from the vents. White knuckled, her fingers splayed, and nails dug into the seat.
He snapped his fingers twice in a row. “Mia, honey. You can’t go into shock on me now. Come on, girl.”
That got her attention. She scooted closer to him, appearing thankful for the pickup’s bench seat and leaned against his arm. “They’re trying to kill me. I’m going to die.”
“And we’re not going to let that happen. But you have to let me know what’s going on. You have to trust me. Can you do that?” He checked his mirror to change lanes but also inspected her for chattering teeth and white knuckles. Both had disappeared. Progress.
Hell, she felt good against his arm. She locked eyes with him, and for a moment, he forgot where they were and what they were doing. It was those dark, sultry eyes. How did he miss those earlier? They were as dark as his, but hers were still bloodshot from the tear gas bombs.
He pulled his gaze back. That didn’t last more than a second and scanned her again. He didn’t notice the sweater or the dirt or her terror but rather the supple mounds of her breasts.
Where was his mind? Sure as shit, not paying attention to his surroundings. He’d been concerned about getting her fresh clothes and some food. He should have known they’d be tracking him. Or her.
“Mia, tell me what you know, and I’ll figure out the rest.” Her warmth pressed against his arm.
“I’m a therapist at a military base outside DC. I’d been seeing a patient who recently returned from a covert op in South America. Mostly routine stuff. But overnight he became…” Her voice cracked.
“You’re okay. I promise. Just trust me.”
She took a deep breath. “He became what I thought was paranoid. He said he had a file.”
“A file?”
“Yes. He hid it at the airport. A human trafficker was after him. He said if he turned up dead, I needed to get that file to a contact in DC.”
Winters saw a cop ahead and slowed down to the speed limit. “Why didn’t he just pass on the file himself?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned against his arm.
“Okay, then what happened?”
“Military police showed up at my office to ask questions. They said he jumped off his apartment balcony. He lived on the 14th floor.” Tears brimmed, and she blinked rapid-fire. “That’s not possible. He wouldn’t have.”
Winters looked down at her in the crook of his arm. “Do you know what’s on that file?”
She shrugged, silent.
Oh, she knows.
“It’s worth killing for?” He accelerated through traffic again, growing more anxious with what she might say.
Mia nodded. “If you’re the South American human trafficker, warlord type, then yes. It’d be worth killing for.”
“Which you know I’m not, so tell me what’s in the file.” He tried to give her his most trustworthy face. It wasn’t a well-practiced look for him.
Seconds ticked by. Her eyes narrowed, her fingers fretted, and she sucked in a long breath. “He said it was a list of covert agents in deep cover in South America. Names, faces, identities of those infiltrating the cartels.”
“Good God. We’re talking spies and undercover agents? A nonofficial cover list? You pursued a NOC list? On your own?” She obviously had no idea how dangerous that was. A death wish for the untrained, and Miss Khakis-and-Cardigan was definitely untrained. Determined, yes, but that wouldn’t keep a bullet from stopping her dead.
“He bought it off some local tribe leader who was more interested in cash than outing a US agency.”
“And now someone traced the file back to the States and wants it. I need to figure out how my client plays into this. And how they knew where the package was. Hell, how the other guys did, too.”
“I had notes.” She grimaced.
His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and he waited for more.
“I made notes in my file on him. I didn’t think there was any merit to what he said. I wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget about it, in case I needed to reference it in our sessions. I honestly thought he had delusions.”
Winters pressed a button on his phone and connected to Jared. After he recapped everything to boss man, he nodded and hung up. “The other team must have learned the location after reading your notes.”
“They have my client notes?” Mia grasped his forearm. Emotion ran visible across her cheeks. He couldn’t tell if it was anger or embarrassment. She needed him to say something, anything. He had no idea what though.
Fuck it. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, hugging her. It was some form of comfort. One he hadn’t much practice at, but she needed at least that much and, though he had no idea how to ease pain, her sigh seemed to say he made an okay first attempt. Well, second if he counted the last motel room.
“Kensington,” she whispered.
“What’s that?” He held her, punctuating the question with a slight squeeze.
“My last name. Mia Kensington.”
He smiled at her. It was a genuine smile—not used to illicit information or coerce a mark. Not all that uncomfortable but alien to him. He could get used to though. “Pleasure to meet you, Mia Kensington.”
“How’d your guys find out about my notes if you didn’t know my last name?”
“That’s how an ops team works. My job was to get that package. But I picked you up along the way. The team at home watches my back, feeds me intel, et cetera. So they probably picked your headshot up from the security surveillance at the airport and compared it against a few databases. Since you work on a base, I’m sure your picture hit as a match with one quick search. From your civilian employee badge.”
“Oh.”
She smelled like vanilla and sugar, even after the hell she’d been through that day. Her soft hair brushed up against his bare bicep. Unsettled need prickled down his neck. His throat tightened, and fire ran to his groin.
“Mia…” Distraction and anticipation stole words from his lips.
His heart pounded loud in his chest, fighting for his attention. With each flutter of her eyelashes and innocent movement against his skin, his tension spiked. It was shocking. He was on the job. There was no time for distraction. Losing control was unheard of. Unacceptable.
His arm was cemented around her shoulder, and it wasn’t moving. He stared as the broken white lines on the highway passed in quick revolutions, one right after another. The hum of the truck’s engine poked at his concentration.
He needed to get out of this truck. He needed cool, fresh air to cover him. Right now. Deep, mind-clearing breaths were in order as soon as possible. Anything to get his disciplined mind back to what it did best—analyze, act, accomplish.
Winters made a sharp exit off the highway onto an unlit ramp. He jammed on the brakes. Gravel spit from under the truck. The back end skidded and fishtailed before it came to a stop. His heart thumped. His throat tightened. The faint scent of burned rubber filtered into the pickup cab.
Oh, what the hell. No way was he getting out of this truck.
As fast as he pulled off the road, he brought her close to his face, and without even a second to hover over her, he crushed his lips onto hers. Her tense mouth gasped a breath, then melted. The hot caress of her tongue sent explosions from his chest to the palms of his hands. The pounding in his heart didn’t get any better. It only pushed his racing pulse faster, making it gallop wild, as intoxicating rockets flamed inside him.
Insanity. She was delicious insanity.
In between breathless pants, wicked want fired. Her lips were full. Her kiss was better than he expected, and hell, he expected a whole lot. She stoked him faster than he could ever remember. A kiss unlike any other kiss. There was no denying that.
He knotted a hand in her hair, held her to him, and devoured her. The press of her silken flesh made him hunger for more. His breathing deteriorated into a desperate rasp of torture. With each inhalation, he smelled, tasted, and consumed feminine beauty. This angel was a vixen in disguise, and God help him, he wanted her.
Her small hands wrapped into his T-shirt, then she stroked his stomach, flexing her fingertips against the fabric and straining against him. He dropped his lips to her neck, and she moaned. That perfect purr fanned his desperation. Her goose bumps flashed under his tongue’s caress, and she shuddered with each whipping kiss.
She tasted of sweat and tear gas, of soft woman, and carnal ambition. There wasn’t a timid thing about Mia. Who was he to assume what she wanted? To think she needed soothing and caring? It seemed all she needed was him. Hard. Tough. Possessive.
Her grip on him flexed again against his taut muscles. She looked so fragile, but good God almighty was he wrong. She strained to spread her legs. Their position on the front seat didn’t give them a lot of room, but he was all over her, making the most of their confinement. Her head dropped back with a deep gasp, leaving her neck open for his teeth to rake against the delectable skin.
After forging a path up her neck, he ate at her lips again. She pushed toward each rough kiss, begging more of him. He leaned into her, hungering for the sweetness of her flesh. His swollen cock pushed into his pants zipper. And the hell of it was she knew it. Little Miss Khaki-and-Cardigan, the same one who looked like a preppy librarian, wanted him and wasn’t keeping it to herself.
Her hand dropped from his abs, slow and deliberate, to his hard-on, rubbing him through his pants. A rumble escaped his throat. Her nipples peaked harder, pressing through the fabric to tease him in the pale moonlight. He’d die to pluck at them, to thumb each in seductive agony until she cried out for more.
He tugged at the shoulder of her shirt with his teeth, pushing the bra strap down a delicate slope. Slow lashes of his tongue blazed toward her firm breast. Exquisite and supple.
Sharp lights flooded the interior of their pickup truck. Bright like a warning beacon. A car exited on their ramp. It sped too fast, nearing them too quick. With one deft move, Winters dropped her down to the bench, beneath the exterior line of sight, and held her in place. He heard the harsh intake of her unsuspecting gasp and felt her body go rigid under his palm. Winters narrowed his eyes to study the car as it passed. Nothing suspicious. Just the cockblock timing of a lead-footed driver.
Hell. What if it had been trouble? Here he was pawing at a woman he should protect. Some shithead wanted the package he was responsible for securing. And he wanted the woman who was now also his responsibility. Winters ran his hands from the heavy stubble on his face into his shaggy hair. Danger had never before been a powerful aphrodisiac. Why was it driving him to the edge now?
For the first time since he burst through the motel room door with tear gas, she didn’t appear to be scared or angry. Instead, she shined with lust, want, and reckless need, most likely, a mirror image of him. Hot desire pulsed through him like a dangerous toxin. Losing focus would get them both killed.
She tilted her head away from him, laughed to herself, and pushed off the seat. “Deal with stress like that, huh?”
What did she just say?
“Stress? I don’t get stressed out, doll.” She thought he needed a release from stress? How about a release from her continuous feminine hum and sweet fragrance that she radiated? Or the breathtaking way she wrapped her hands in his shirt, pulling him close? Never mind how she struggled to open her legs to him. Heaven help him.
“So that was just…?” Mia fingered stray strands of her hair.
“C’mon, Mia. Don’t psychoanalyze me with your therapy stuff. That was what it was. A hell of a kiss.”
“That was more than a kiss.”
He needed a release, preferably by working out, pounding pavement, or engaging in a hell of a spar. Any type that didn’t come in the form of Mia Kensington. Instead, he threw an argumentative glance her way, pushed the truck into gear, slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and burned rubber as they ate pavement.