Chapter Twenty-Two
“You dogs!” Chance ground out, as pissed as he’d ever been. “You guys let me think she was dying.” And I fell for it! “You turned the beacons off until I was home, then turned them on after you left!” If that didn’t make Chance feel like a love-struck hound dog, nothing did.
“It was either that or let you run off and be noble again,” Pagan growled back as the helicopter he and Kruze had hitched a ride in zipped south-by-southwest to Portland, Oregon. “Kruze and I got this op, man. We’ll be in touch when justice is done.”
“Wait!” Chance barked. “Don’t you dare hang up. Why aren’t you topside with York? I thought you wanted him dead. You were sure ready to end him last time we talked.”
“I had time to think and you’re right. ’Sides, Portland’s filling up fast with assassins. Kruze and I want a ringside seat. Revenge aside, Sullivan gave me this job first, so stow the righteous wrath routine and take care of your woman.”
The connection went dead and Chance’s mouth went dry before he could say, ‘She’s not my woman.’ What a lie. Suede Tennyson was precisely that and he knew it. He’d never felt this way about a woman before. Beneath the foul mouth and her crude public image, an innocence that he hadn’t seen coming lay hidden in Suede. As brash and snarky as she could be, he sensed an inner vulnerability, and that surprise discovery had triggered every last one of his male receptors. He wanted to not only protect her, but to support her and provide for her. Love her.
He dropped his headset to the desktop, shaking his head. No way. This wasn’t that. Had to be that whole hero/damsel-in-distress syndrome, but damn it to hell. He was a goner. All it took was that one call from Pagan, and like an idiot, Chance had nearly fallen down the mountain to get to Suede in time. Baby Brother knew how raw he was after losing his team and their mother, and he’d used that weakness against him like a damned pro.
Chance had been well played by the two men he respected most—until tonight. He’d made a fool of himself. Kruze and Pagan had set him up, and if anyone knew precisely how to do it, it was the men who knew him best. The dogs! This was Pagan’s underhanded idea. He had a smack-down coming. Kruze too, for going along with him.
Chance pushed away from his laptop, not as angry as he let on, but still. There should’ve at least been a civil discussion before they’d hoodwinked him into leaving his post. What kind of a man does that? Apparently a lovesick SEAL, that’s who.
Nope. Not lovesick. Emotional, maybe. Brain-damaged, certainly.
Retracing his steps, he went back to his room, the beacons on and the storm in his heart calm for the first time in months. The room was dark and Suede had already fallen asleep. Chance didn’t need to do anything more than tend to his unexpected patient until she was fit for travel. Try telling his heart that.
Carefully, he climbed under the covers behind Suede. She moaned when he wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and slid his legs alongside hers. When she bowed her head, that was enough invitation to bury his nose in her hair. And there he stayed for the next days and nights, tending to her instead of saving the world. Making certain she took her meds. Carrying her to the bathroom when she needed to go. Standing guard when she showered, so she didn’t slip and fall. Fixing breakfasts and lunches, snacks and dinners to keep her on the mend. Watching her sleep and marveling at the tender beauty who’d fallen into his arms. Wanting her to stay.
Finally her bruises faded to yellow. The tear on her thigh healed and the five-day antibiotic cleared her lungs before they had a chance to get worse. All she needed now was rest. In the wee hours of day four, with her asleep in his arms, he let his mind return to duty.
He’d already informed Sullivan that Pagan and Kruze were now on task; that he’d stayed behind to guard Suede Tennyson. Sullivan didn’t need to know the particulars of how that came to be, only that the single most powerful piece in this game of cat-and-mouse between Tennyson and York now lay sound asleep in Chance’s bed without a care in the world. No one but the Sinclair brothers and Senator Sullivan knew she’d survived, but even two-faced Governor Tennyson would soon believe the despicable piece of evidence York had carefully captured before he’d offed his own men.
If Tennyson were in on Suede’s murder attempt, the video would no doubt make him happy. But if this were the game of comeuppance Chance feared it was, the war between Tennyson and York would escalate. Tennyson would strike back using Viktor Patrone’s brute force. York could counter with his buddy Juarez and the Gonzales cartel. The innocent folks of poor Portland, Oregon, would be caught in the middle of gang warfare.
One burden lifted even as another settled like a heavy mantle over Chance’s shoulders. Suede was also the key to ending this war before it began, but he and she were alone now in this wild and rugged wilderness called Montana. If anyone came looking for her, if anyone thought for a moment to dredge the pond beneath Mother’s Day Falls for her body and didn’t find what they were looking for, things could turn ugly.
A tremor ran up his spine. Chance ran a hand over his head and down the back of his neck, sure of two things. He needed to pound out a good workout to get his brain back in the game, and he needed to keep Suede Tennyson safe. Okay, make that three.
Chance shrugged at the unheard, yet always-with-him prompting from Kruze that while Chance declared one discussion point, he always had more. So make it a dozen or two, but Suede Tennyson would also learn how to handle a weapon while she was here. She needed plenty of rest first, but she also needed practice knocking down man-sized targets at the practice range in his basement. She had to learn to protect herself, and Chance was just the man for the job.
Maybe there was a way Suede could draw those two bastards into the open. Wouldn’t that kill the buzz York and Tennyson had going, to come face to face with the woman who could end them both during a well-orchestrated press conference? Once they knew she was still alive, all hell would break loose. They’d react, maybe over-react, and hopefully, do something stupid. Homeland Security and the FBI could take it from there.
He scrubbed a hand over his face at the inherent danger in using her to bait men the likes of Tennyson and York, Gonzales and Patrone. The workout was cancelled. He needed to pass these latest insights onto Pagan, Kruze, and Sullivan. A war was coming and the quicker they prepared for it, the better.