Blood and Fire (23 page)
Authors: Shannon Mckenna
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Suspense, #Action & Adventure, #Contemporary
Boxes of clothes were stacked against the wall. A Glock 19 sat on the bedside table, well within reach. So he wasn’t so fearless after all.
His smartphone sat next to the gun. She took it, hooked it up to her own, running Hobart’s superfast password-cracking program.
It only took about ten minutes before the program sifted out his code and she was in, downloading the remote spy program. Copying the contents of his device to her own phone to pore over at her leisure. Hacking was not her specialty. That was how eggheads like Hobart justified their existence. Even so, her level of expertise was higher than that of a normal cyber criminal. She checked the time. There were a few minutes to kill, so she got into his SMS register for that day. She formed a grid, plugged the times and messages in it into her head, toggling between SMSs sent and those received. She found a series that warranted interest, an exchange with a colleague named Trish.
| Petrie: | need a favor |
| Trish: | don’t u always |
| Petrie: | will be walking blood samples over from ME’s to crime lab tomorrow 4 dna testing. Meet me there? | whose dna? |
| Petrie: | Bifid zigomaticus + 3 john does from diner. Cd u do ur magic thing, get them fast tracked? |
| Trish: | what’s the rush |
| Petrie: | got a bad feeling. pls Trish. I love u will be ur slave 4ever |
| Trish: | chill out prettyboy. get ur tongue out of my ass it tick les |
Hmm. So, the results of genetic testing on today’s disaster would soon be known to all. Zoe tucked her phone away, put Petrie’s precisely where he’d left it, and wondered if she should do anything more.
She studied Petrie himself. Tasty. Thick, unruly chestnut hair, spiking every which way. Strong jaw, virile beard shadow, bold Roman nose. She wondered what color eyes he had. He was long, lean. His naked torso was taut, with the whippet-thin, wiry musculature that she liked. It looked streamlined, efficient. Better than beefcake bulk. She ran her leather-gloved hand over his cut pecs. Dragged the sheet down over his hip. He slept naked. Mmm, nice. She cupped his balls. Stroked her gloved fingers over the penis draped across his thigh.
It jerked in her hand and swelled. A shame to waste an erection like that. Three expert strokes brought him to an admirable state of hardness. And drugged, too, with respiration and blood pressure at their absolute lowest. Imagine what he could do when awake.
Zoe slung her thigh over him, straddling him on the bed. Reached for his gun in her leather-gloved hand and placed the barrel under his chin, scraping it along his stiff beard stubble as she squeezed his cock.
She could be Petrie’s naughty succubus. She saw herself sheathing him in latex, mounting up, and closing her eyes and dreaming of King and reward phrases as she rode herself to juicy completion.
But she was team leader. She had to set the example. There was no justifiable reason to fuck Petrie. It would be self-indulgent, and King would disapprove. She dismounted, lay the gun back down in the exact place and position it had been, and tugged the sheet back up, after giving that beautiful, thick, stiff cock a final regretful farewell pat.
No, her work here was done. Petrie’s involvement was peripheral. Nothing to be gained wasting some operative’s time processing useless data. Monitoring his smartphone should be more than sufficient. She left him as she had found him and drifted down the corridor, uncomfortably distracted by unfulfilled sexual impulses. She should have assigned Nadia to Petrie and taken on Aaro herself. But it was that greedy whore Nadia, bucking and squealing in some hotel room.
So unfair.
17
B
runo was grumpy the following mor
ning, speaking only in imperative grunts.
Get dressed. Eat this. Drink the coffee. Hurry up.
He kept peering out a tiny crack in the cabin’s curtain, gun in hand.
runo was grumpy the following mor
ning, speaking only in imperative grunts.
Get dressed. Eat this. Drink the coffee. Hurry up.
He kept peering out a tiny crack in the cabin’s curtain, gun in hand.
She heard the murmur of a car engine, the crunch of a car pulling to a stop, and suddenly, his battle tension relaxed.
So. It was the right car. The right visitor.
She followed Bruno out into t icy cold, conifer-perfumed half-light of dawn. A tall, brawny guy wearing a long sheepskin coat stood next to a red Jeep Wrangler. A wool watch cap was pulled low over his forehead. His face was lean—sharp cheekbones, hawk nose, grim mouth. His jaw was covered with glittering gold and silver beard stubble. His pale eyes fastened on hers, bright with curiosity. “Morning,” he said.
She gave him a cautious smile. “Thanks for coming all this way to pick us up,” she offered.
He slanted a glance at Bruno. “No problem. Thanks for the pretty manners. Guess I didn’t drive all night for nothing.”
Bruno grunted. The wind swirled bits of snow around them. The tension made the hairs on Lily’s nape prickle.
“Talked to Kev a couple hours ago,” Sean McCloud said.
“Good for you,” was Bruno’s rejoinder.
“He called from Christchurch,” McCloud went on. “He and Edie were looking for the first flight they could find for Portland or Seattle.”
Bruno cleared his throat. “That’s nice.”
“You think?” Sean’s voice hardened. “He said you didn’t call.”
Bruno shrugged. “You know there’s no cell coverage here.”
“He was scared shitless for you.”
“What’s between me and Kev is private,” Bruno said.
Sean’s eyes flickered. “Whatever. But I think you should get that bug out of your ass before you start walking funny.”
Bruno stuck the gun inside his jacket. “Let’s get going.”
“Anytime, man,” McCloud murmured. “Anytime.”
Bruno walked to the edge of the ravine and raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes. He stared down at the mountainside. When he lowered the binoculars, his face had changed. “They’re coming.”
The dead-calm quality of his voice made Lily shiver.
McCloud looked startled. “Who’s coming?”
“You were followed,” Bruno stated. “They’ve got us. Pinned.”
“No way. That’s not possible. This car is clean. We talked about this business over encrypted phones. I went to insane lengths to make sure that nobody tagged Miles’ rig. Give me those things!” Sean snatched the binoculars away and peered down at the road. “I don’t see anything,” he complained. “Where?”
“Look where the creek curves at the level of that spur on the bluff over there,” Bruno directed. “Now follow it up to the second switchback from the bottom. No headlights. Look for movement. They just turned the hairpin. Heading back up in this direction. See it?”
Sean McCloud was silent for a moment as he searched, and then he sucked in air. “Son of a bitch. How the hell did they know—”
“Because they know everything,” Lily blurted, feeling sick.
There was a brief moment of blank dismay, and then Sean McCloud seemed to shake himself, as if throwing off a spell. “Come on, then.” He sounded so casual, it was almost bizarre. “Let’s get to it.”
“To what?” Lily demanded.
“Our plan. How long you figure it’ll take them to get up here?”
Bruno peered down, calculating. “At that speed, twenty-five minutes, maybe. I’ve got some pistols and ammo Aaro lent me. A Glock 19, a Beretta 92, an H&K USP. Got anything with youan>
“Hell, yeah,” McCloud said absently. He crossed his arms again, tapping his fingers. “Only one vehicle,” he murmured. “Arrogant sons of bitches. Who the fuck do they think they’re dealing with?” He stared down the hill, eyes slitted. “You got that little bridge down there, at two hundred meters. That’s the best place to rig it. Got a chain?”
“Best place to rig what?” Lily demanded.
“The bomb,” McCloud said, as if it were obvious. “We could go with ammonium nitrate and fuel oil. Diesel or kerosene. I’ve got some Tovex in the truck to boost it. Did Kev ever store any fertilizer up here?”
Bruno looked bemused. “Uh . . . uh . . .”
“Never mind, forget it. Flame fougasse, then.” McCloud pushed on. “We dig a hole on the road, hide a container of fuel wired to some explosives. Boom, problem solved. Until the next dickheads find you.”
“You can rig it that fast?” Bruno said.
“If you stop jerking off.”
“Wait!” Lily yelled as the men leaped into action. “One quick second. Please.”
The men lurched to a stop and spun, with identical what-thefuck-is-your-problem-lady looks on their faces.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” McCloud said. “Make it fast.”
“What if the people in that vehicle are not our bad guys? What if they’re, you know, just innocent passersby?”
Bruno and Sean exchanged glances. “Lily,” Bruno said, as if speaking to a slow-witted child. “People do not innocently pass by this place at dawn with their headlights turned off. It’s the last property on the road. The road runs out into a deer track three hundred meters farther on. This is the furry, pimply ass-end of fucking nowhere.”
She gestured at McCloud. “He said himself it would have been impossible for them to follow him! You can’t risk killing innocent people!”
“You want to go wait by the road?” Sean McCloud’s voice sounded only mildly curious. “Offer them coffee and Danish?”
She waved her hands. “I just don’t want people to die because they’re on the wrong road at the wrong time! That would suck!”
Sean shrugged. “OK. Plan B,” he said. “I dig in up the hill at a hundred meters with my M21, check them out with my scope. It’ll magnify the ambient light enough to see inside. If it’s Great-aunt Betty, we give her coffee and Danish. If they’re the bad guys, we fuck them up, take one of them alive, and interrogate the living shit out of him.”
Bruno’s face cleared. “Sounds good.”
“Plus, we can deliver our survivors to the cops afterward,” Sean went on. “A blood gift to appease their wrath.”
“Even better,” Bruno said, with growing enthusiasm.
Sean McCloud gave her a hard look. “If there’s more than two, I’m capping them, straight off,” he said flatly. “This is too fucking risky as it is. I don’t want to die today. I’ve got a kid.”
Lily gulped and nodded. No arguing with that position.
“So, how about that chain?” McCloud was all business again.
“Down by the bridge,” Bruno said. “Tony always used to chain the road when he left.”
“String it. I’ll gather supplies.”
Bruno loped off down the road. Lily watched him go and aimed tnervous question at Sean McCloud’s back as he rummaged through the back of the Jeep for supplies. “How do you intend to, ah, take some of them prisoner without killing them?”
McCloud flashed a grin over his shoulder. He held up handfuls of small, dark cylindrical objects. “Watch and learn,” he said. “This is gonna be fun. Promise you won’t tell my wife. She’s funny that way.”
She studied them in trepidation. “What the hell are those?”
“Flashbangs. Stun grenades. Now be quiet and let me work.”
There was an art to feigning sleep. Aaro was good at it. His standard method of not dealing with whatever female he’d just had sex with. Breathing was key. Deep, slow, and steady. Mouth slack, open, face relaxed. And calm. No mental buzz, no static. Chicks picked up on that. Bright ones, anyhow, and this one was bright. He could tell in spite of their deliberate dearth of conversation.
He was justified in the sleep he was feigning, after the fuck marathon she’d put him through. Not that he’d complained. He’d been fine with the hard, uncomplicated pounding that she’d wanted. Up, down, backward, forward, bring it on, he wasn’t fussy. She liked it rough; she came easily and often. But she kept wanting more.
After six bouts, he caught on. She was a sexual black hole. A guy could kill himself trying to satisfy her. But it had been a long time, so what the fuck, he put out. She was gorgeous. High, bouncing tits. Ass taut and perfect. Snug, hot pink pussy, waxed and plucked and groomed. A walking wet dream. His dick stiffened thinking of it. So why was he feigning sleep instead of mounting back up, giving her more?
It was the clenched feeling in his belly. Like a tiny fist. After ejaculating that many times, he should be comatose, but her febrile desperation made him nervous. Even while she was climaxing, she was always clawing for something more. Something she just couldn’t have.
Maybe it had to do with the asshole husband screwing the slut sister. In any case, it was depressing, and he was depressed all on his own, thanks. He’d avoid the whole sticky mess of sex altogether, if he could. Steer clear of females, with their incomprehensible demands. Live the life of a monk, tranquil, solitary. But he had a functioning dick that wanted what it wanted, and it had to be periodically appeased, or he got testosterone backup. Toxic. Very bad scene.
So he was good at feigning sleep. Biofeedback training helped. He had control over his heartbeat, blood pressure. He projected the vibe
sleeping, sleeping,
while following her every move. The rustle of sheets, the roll and dip of the bed. Feet padding toward the bathroom. Water running. Click, a beam of light, a cloud of steam. He listened to her dressing, relief warring with caution. She was bailing for real.
Yes.
sleeping, sleeping,
while following her every move. The rustle of sheets, the roll and dip of the bed. Feet padding toward the bathroom. Water running. Click, a beam of light, a cloud of steam. He listened to her dressing, relief warring with caution. She was bailing for real.
Yes.
She rummaged in her purse for a moment. A few beats of pure silence. His small hairs prickled. What was up? She was just standing there, staring? Wondering if she should wake him, say good-bye?
Please, don’t. Just go. Take your problems and vanish. Write a note if you have to. And then . . . just . . .
go.
go.
She was tiptoeing closer. The balls of her feet shushed against the carpet fibers. Next to the bed. He felt her body heat, smelled her shower gel, her shoe leather. But no breathing. She was holding her breath.
He almost twitched with the need to open his eyes, but then he’d have to talk to her. Even fuck her again, may.
The silence was strange. It quivered in the air. Like indecision.
Or . . . anticipation.
His heart sped up. He’d have to drag in air soon. Something was off. Either she’d lean over, kiss him good-bye, God forbid . . . or else . . .
Or else she was holding a knife to his throat.
His body contracted. He jerked, knocked whatever she was holding away from his face. It went flying.
She landed a punch to his jaw. Her elbow stabbed his ribs.
Fuck.
He barely blocked the knee to his balls. Lunged for her as she scuttled back. She was fast, but he had the weight and reach. He blocked her punch, seized her arm, flipped her. Landed on top of her, all two hundred and forty pounds of him. Knocked out her air. Felt no remorse.
Fuck.
He barely blocked the knee to his balls. Lunged for her as she scuttled back. She was fast, but he had the weight and reach. He blocked her punch, seized her arm, flipped her. Landed on top of her, all two hundred and forty pounds of him. Knocked out her air. Felt no remorse.
She bucked, choked for air. He pinned her wrists, looked around. He was naked, and a hotel room didn’t have much in the way of ligature lying around, so he groped under her top with one hand, unhooked her bra. He ripped the straps loose, yanked the lacy garment off her torso. Used it to bind her wrists. Twisting hard, knotting tight. No mercy.
He rolled her onto her back, on top of her bound hands, and leaned until her face paled and sweat popped out on her forehead.
“I’ve rethought this no-names rule,” he remarked. “Considering this development, I think you should tell me who you are.”
Her eyes glittered, her chest heaved. “Fuck you.”
He leaned harder, forcing a high-pitched wheeze out of her, and without taking his eyes off hers, snagged the object he’d batted out of her hand. A little spray bottle. Son of a bitch.
“What’s this? A knock-out drug?” he asked. “What’s it for?”
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