A View to a Thrill (Masters and Mercenaries Book 7) (3 page)

“Chelsea, was there a bomb on your car?”

“Yeah,” she said, muttering under her breath. “I ran a mirror under it. It’s a force of habit. I spotted it and left it where it was. Hopefully whoever it is thinks I’m still at my place.”

He cursed and turned away because that wasn’t the likeliest scenario. “They were probably watching you. Chelsea, they very likely followed you here.”

Her eyes flared, her little chin coming up in a stubborn pout. “I was careful. I know how to get rid of a tail. They didn’t follow me. It’s not a big deal, Weston. If you don’t want me here, I can go find a motel. I have a couple of cards that shouldn’t be traceable.”

Because she always kept a few extra identities on her just in case she had to run on a moment’s notice, whether from the authorities or from her unsavory connections.

“This is because you lied to all of us and haven’t gotten out of the business.” Information brokering. It was how Chelsea had made her money for years.

“That’s not true. I haven’t done anything Satan didn’t ask me to do.”

Ian. When they’d been in Europe, he’d discovered Ian had requested that Chelsea keep up some of her connections on the Deep Web so he could find information. He and Ian were going to have a talk. It likely wouldn’t go well. The fact that he didn’t really have any right to complain nagged at him. Chelsea wasn’t his. By all rights, Ian had more right to protect her since she was his sister-in-law. “I want to know everyone you’ve talked to in the last six months. I want access to every record you have.”

Whoever it was, they’d taken no chances. They’d had a backup plan. Someone really wanted her in pieces.

She turned her chin up, a stubborn look settling in her eyes. “This was a mistake. Just tell my sister I’ll call her when I figure this shit out.”

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The tears that suddenly sheened her eyes damn near killed him. “I didn’t know where else to go. I really don’t have another place here in Texas. I’ve never been on my own before. I can pay you.”

Oh, he could come up with a hundred different ways she could pay him, none of them having a thing to do with money. “We’ll talk about that later. You look pale. Have you eaten?”

“No. I found the stupid bomb this morning when I got home from the airport. I’ve been running all over Dallas ever since. I rode the train for hours. I actually went to Fort Worth and came back here to make sure I wasn’t being followed,” she said as she turned and started to walk into his living room. Bloody hell. His cousins were still here. The minute she’d shown up, he’d forgotten all about them.

They’d shown up this afternoon because he hadn’t been out to see them in months, and now he had to find a way to get rid of them.

“Hello, pretty lady,” a low voice said. Damn it. JT pretty much hit on anything with breasts. Chelsea could take flirting poorly. She’d been physically abused by her father, and from what her sister had told him, she was afraid of men. His cousin could be a bit over the top.

He hurried behind her in an attempt to put himself between the two.

“Hi.” Chelsea’s voice came out a little breathy.

“I’m JT, Simon’s cousin, and this is my far less attractive brother, Michael.” JT was on his feet, his hand held out.

Chelsea giggled. She actually giggled. She never, ever giggled. Laughed at him from time to time, but this was a girlish, flirty sound he’d never heard from her before. She stepped up and placed her hand in JT’s. “He looks like he’s your twin.”

“I’m definitely the prettier one.” Brooding Michael was on his feet, too, giving Chelsea a charming smile.

Chelsea turned and shook Michael’s hand as well. If she was scared because there were two massive walls of masculine flesh surrounding her, he couldn’t tell. She simply flashed a gorgeous smile and looked between the two of them. “Uhm, identical, much? Sure I see that JT has longer hair, but I think that’s because he was smart enough to avoid the Special Forces.”

Michael chuckled, absolutely unperturbed. “Hey, I can’t help that I’m a military man. Big brother there was always too fond of cow shit to leave the ranch.”

“That’s no way to talk about the future CEO of Malone Oil,” Chelsea chided.

JT’s grin faded. “How did you know that?”

Michael shot his brother a superior look. “Because she has way more in common with me, brother. She does her homework. It’s nice to meet you, Chelsea Denisovitch. Or do you prefer Dennis? Or The Broker?”

Simon stepped in. “Do you want to explain how you even know that term has any correlation to her, Michael?”

Chelsea had stiffened a bit, and Simon was deeply satisfied with the way she stepped back toward him. “I think I was right about the Special Forces, but it looks like your cousin is involved with the Agency, too.”

JT tilted his head, obviously not following the conversation. “I’m a little confused.”

Because he was the smart one who hadn’t gone into the intelligence field. Michael had mentioned earlier in the evening that the CIA was sniffing around him, but if he knew who “The Broker” was, it was more than a quick sniff. “You’ve been working for Tennessee Smith. He wouldn’t have talked to you about her if you hadn’t already said yes to him. He’s the devil, you know.”

Maybe that was laying it on a bit thick, but he didn’t like the fact that Ten was still thinking about Chelsea, still wondering if she or Charlotte had been the powerful information broker who had been responsible for taking down numerous arms dealers and human traffickers. Charlotte had attempted to take all the credit, but Simon knew it had always been Chelsea. Tennessee Smith was what the Agency liked to call “a handler.” He was the man who recruited and sent agents out into the field. He’d been Ian Taggart’s handler, and roughly six months before he’d made an attempt to bring Chelsea into the fold.

If Chelsea went into government intelligence, she would be lost forever. She was an addict. She craved the power she got the minute she touched a computer. If she got a whiff of the kind of power Ten could offer her, she would be lost to a world Simon wouldn’t be able to rescue her from.

Michael stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of defensiveness that came right out of their childhood. Michael had never taken well to having his actions questioned. “Just because it didn’t work out for you with MI6 doesn’t mean I have to sit on the sidelines, cousin. You can keep your opinions about my career to yourself.”

And there it was. He was a fuckup. He screwed up everything. He’d mishandled an operation and that was why he no longer worked intelligence.

“Didn’t work out with MI6?” Chelsea looked up at him. “What is he talking about?”

Michael seemed to understand he’d stepped over a line. “Nothing. I didn’t mean a thing.”

“He’s referring to the fact that I mishandled a case and got myself reprimanded. I chose to quit rather than wait for Damon to fire me. Luckily Tag needed someone with British connections.” Cold. He needed to remain utterly cold. His cousin was right. It wasn’t his business and no one wanted his counsel.

Chelsea turned on Michael. “Are you trying to imply that Simon did something wrong on the United One Fund case? Because you’re wrong. I’ve read that case and he did everything he could. How the hell was he supposed to know Charlotte faked her death? All he had was the fact that Ian Taggart’s wife had died and there was a massive cover-up around it. If you had that information, wouldn’t you act on it? It’s damn easy for a green agent to question the actions of a superior one, but you better back down because Damon Knight would never have fired him. He’s not a stupid man. Your cousin, on the other hand, can be a bit of a drama queen.”

Simon frowned. She’d read the reports about the UOF case? And she was defending him? And what the hell did she mean by drama queen?

JT grinned as he sank back into his chair. “I would watch it, Mike. She looks like she’s ready to take you down. I wouldn’t insult Simon there when he’s got such a fierce protector.”

Michael’s arms came down, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry. To both of you. And I’m really not totally a hundred percent sure about working with Ten. I shouldn’t even be talking about the job.”

JT stared at his brother. “Those friends of yours who are out at the ranch, do they have anything to do with the Agency?”

Michael shook his head. “Like I said, I’m not going to talk about this.”

JT turned to Simon as though he could do anything about it. “He’s got a couple of Navy buddies out at the ranch this week. He’s using the guesthouse and I’m supposed to give them space or some shit. I thought he was just partying. Soldiers work damn hard and they play hard, too. I stayed away so he could blow off some steam with his friends. Now I’m wondering if he’s not meeting with the Agency. I don’t know that I like that happening on my land.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed. “The last time I checked, the Circle M still belonged to our father. You want to take it up with him? Like I said, stay out of my business, big brother, and I’ll stay out of yours.”

Chelsea frowned as she turned his way. “They’re pleasant.”

“They’re leaving.” He needed to get his cousins out of here. He couldn’t do a damn thing to figure out what was going on with Chelsea until they were alone.

The doorbell rang.

Chelsea stiffened, her eyes going for the door.

Shit. It was probably his food, but he couldn’t take that chance now. And he couldn’t hide it from his cousins. In this case, he definitely preferred Michael to JT. “Are you carrying?”

Michael’s whole face slid from angry to blank in a second. He reached around and pulled a SIG Sauer out of its holster at the small of his back. “Trouble?”

“Probably not. It’s probably Kung Pao chicken and two egg rolls, but it’s a rough neighborhood.” It was an upscale neighborhood. They wouldn’t buy it, but he had to let them know he wasn’t going to discuss it.

JT’s eyes had gone wide. “Why the hell are you carrying a gun?”

Chelsea had pulled her Ruger and was expertly checking the clip. “Why the hell aren’t you carrying a gun?” She looked up at Simon. “I’ll stay here with the cowboy.”

At least she wasn’t going to fight him. Simon nodded to the door and Michael moved across the floor on utterly silent feet. He got behind the door, ready to take care of whatever was on the opposite side.

Simon couldn’t risk looking through the peephole. He opened the door with a quick motion and prayed Michael followed his lead.

He didn’t need to be worried. A thin young man who couldn’t be more than nineteen stood in the hallway, holding out a paper bag. “You ordered the beef and broccoli?”

Nothing was going right with his day. “Sure.”

* * * *

“Should I call the police?” JT Malone kept his voice down but there was no way to miss the worry there. He was a future CEO. Chelsea was sure his day was made up of reports and checking the company stock. He very likely had never had anyone send him a bomb. His green eyes were tight with tension. He was what her sister would undoubtedly call smoking hot. With thick black hair and a lean body, there was no doubt Jackson Tyrell ranked heavy on the delicious scale, but somehow he couldn’t compete with Simon’s urbane good looks. JT fit the all-American cowboy mode, but Simon was a mystery. There was a dirty Dom under all that metro finery. It made her want to strip him down and figure out just what made him tick.

“I think Simon can handle it.” She could hear him talking, asking how much he owed. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food. She hadn’t eaten on the plane and then she’d pretty much run around Dallas for hours hoping no one murdered her. No time for tacos.

She lowered her gun. It didn’t look like she would need it.

What was she doing here? God, she should have just taken off the minute she realized someone was after her. Why was she here?

You know why you’re here. When that stupid bomb was about to blow up, all you could think about was him. You’re here because you don’t want to die without knowing what it feels like to be with him just once. You’ve been looking for any reason to hop into bed with him even though you know it’s a terrible idea.

“I don’t like this at all. This is wrong.” JT moved in front of her. “You should be the one standing back. I should protect you.”

So he was a women-and-children-first kind of guy. It didn’t surprise her. It kind of went with the cowboy motif. If he was anything like his cousin, he was a heroic, self-sacrificing guy—the kind that she’d been sure didn’t exist anymore and maybe never had. They’d been a myth until she’d found McKay-Taggart and their band of Dommy men. Unfortunately, she couldn’t indulge JT.

“I’m the one with the firearm and the knowledge of its use,” Chelsea explained. “Have you ever shot anyone?”

“Hell, no, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a gun. I’ve lived on a ranch all my life. I don’t go out without a shotgun.”

Naïve. “There’s more to shooting a man than knowing how to fire. It’s different than killing a coyote. There’s a certain coldness that comes with pulling the trigger on another human being.”

She’d felt it several times before. She’d felt that cold seep over her when her father’s man came for her that night. She’d felt it again when she’d buried the man’s body and cleaned up the blood. Sometimes, she could still see the blood on her hands. So dark against the color of her skin.

“You just went white.” Simon was suddenly in her space. “What the hell did you do?”

She glanced up, and he wasn’t looking at her. His angry question had been directed at his cousin.

JT Malone shook his head, his hands held up. “Nothing. I did absolutely nothing and that’s the problem. I told her I should be the one protecting her, not the other way around. She should have given me the gun and stayed down, though I’m not sure why she needed protecting from the delivery guy. Is she allergic to MSG?”

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I overreacted. But she’s not giving up that gun to anyone. Is that understood? Now, I believe Chelsea’s come to speak to me on rather urgent business. I have to cut our chat short. I’ll call you in a couple of days.”