Bombshell - Men of Sanctuary Series, Book Three (7 page)

Adam shook his head, mustache drooped, expression sad. “Duquesne, ol’ buddy, you’re beginning to worry me. This is the second time you’ve been taken captive. In our own home. The first time, by a woman half your size. You’re losin’ your edge, boy.”

“Fuck off, Stone.” Lucian continued to test body parts to make sure they were functional.

“Fellas, enough with the mutual admiration society. I’ve had all the excitement I can deal with for one night.” Lorelei glanced at the wall clock. “For one morning.”

She pointed at her men.

“Your own beds tonight, boys.” Patting her belly, she added, “Junior and I need restorative sleep.”

Keko agreed with the bed comment, although she didn’t need to warn anyone that she intended to sleep alone—she didn’t have any suitable candidates lined up to share her bed.

“Kamaka, promise to play nicely with the other children so I can go back to sleep.” When the big man didn’t respond, she arrowed a lethal glare at him. “Well?”

Kamaka grinned up at his boss and best friend. “Promise, Miss Keko.”

Before Keko turned back to her room, she watched the man mountain gently pat Callie on the head as he headed for the kitchen and the back door—again. “Sorry, cat.

Next time, stay out of the way.”

Keko shook her head at the conundrum that was Kamaka, then headed to bed.

Chapter Four

Sunday morning

After a quick breakfast with Kamaka, Keko grabbed up her map. “I’m heading out to the camp. Are you coming with me, or staying here?”

Kamaka popped the last piece of bacon in his mouth, talked while he chewed.

“Staying here. If you can handle the stuff at the cabin, Lucian said I could use the big screens this morning. He’ll go through the FBI results with me, the stuff that Agent Chandler forwarded to us. Did you see all the intel toys Lucian has? Outstanding!”

Keko had laughed aloud when Kamaka modeled the black Darth Vader helmet he’d found on a wall-to-wall shelving unit in the satcom center, which was stocked as well as a computer superstore. Shaking her head at their silliness in the midst of potential death and destruction, she left the boys to play with their toys.

At Smitty’s cabin, Keko examined the explosive device components more closely.

The agents had nicknamed the bomb The Larsson. The label caused Keko an emotional twinge every time someone said it, but she knew they meant it as a sign of respect.

Since she’d been introduced as Keko Holokai, the agents were unaware she was the only surviving Larsson. She intended to keep it that way.

The apparatus of the device had been laid out with great precision on the workbench, apparently in preparation for assembly. It was a complicated piece, with redundant fail-safes.
Yeah, fail-safes. A terrible term for ensuring the bomb detonates,
regardless of what we do to shut down the mechanism. A terrible term to underscore the
certainty that people will be killed, maimed, or mangled, despite our best efforts.

Keko photographed and diagrammed every circuit, every component, every tiny screw and length of wire for her own files, even though the FBI had completely processed the scene. Special Agent in Charge Will Chandler finally arrived, showed her what they had so far. Gentleman that he was, he even presented her with a whole grain pita pocket stuffed with chicken-pecan-white-grape-salad and yogurt dressing, from the diner in town. They sat in Adirondack chairs on Smitty’s front porch and ate.

“I don’t know how you people sit on these blasted hard seats. My ass falls asleep.” Chandler shifted again and grunted to prove his point.

“This situation doesn’t make sense. All our file data, all our interviews, indicate Smith wasn’t the type to work with insurgents against his own country. A dyed-in-the-wool patriot, always had been. Lied about his age to enlist in the Army when he was fifteen, got caught, had to wait until he was legal. The guy was a hero. I don’t see him being a turncoat. That dog just won’t hunt.”

“Sorry, Agent Chandler. I can only help with the device—I’m no good at profiling. That was my … that was more John’s forte.”

“Sonofabitch. I’m sorry, Ms. Holokai, this must be torture. We get so wrapped up in the who-done-its that we forget how personal this is to you.”

Keko fought the tears, but they came anyway. “Thanks. He was … like … a father to me.”
And I miss him so much, sometimes I can’t breathe
. She tried for a smile when he patted her hand, but they were both uncomfortable with the emotions.

“I’m fine. Really. I suggest you run any theories past Kamaka, though. His insights border on frighteningly accurate.”

“I’ll take him up on that. Great tat, by the way.”

Keko had worn a backless, sky-blue, summer halter-top that showed the brilliantly inked tattoo in its entirety, when she had her long hair pinned up. Which she’d done, to prevent any stray hairs from contaminating the components. “Thanks.”

Chandler excused himself, headed inside the main cabin to confer with his men; Keko returned to the shop. She had several lengths of wire under a lighted high-powered magnifying lens, when she heard a knock against the doorframe, presumably Chandler, announcing his return.

“Chandler, there’s something about the composition of these wires—”

Before she could turn, strong arms wrapped around her. Before she could react, she caught a faint, barely-there aroma, the sweet woody scent of wintergreen. Her heartbeat instantly kicked up spikes on the chart.

“Damn it, MacBride, what do you think you’re—?”

”
Shh
. Hush, Ms. Kailani Holokai Larsson, explosives expert with the incredible tattoo and who smells like wild honeysuckle. I did my homework. It took some digging, then Lucian verified, so I didn’t ask the wrong people the wrong questions. You’re the real deal. Impressive. John Larsson’s daughter. Imagine that.”

“The real deal? Is that right? Is that what I am? You are
such
a jerk. Let me go or I’ll … .”

“For instance, I now know that both your names derive from seafarers, from the sea, the sky. You’re a water baby, with the strength of the oceans.” He pulled her against him, her back to his front, his muscled arms holding her captive as he nuzzled the black hair she had trapped in a mother-of-pearl barrette shaped like a leaping dolphin.

“Damn, I missed this. I missed you, Kailani of the sea. I didn’t know how to find you.

I’ve been going crazy trying to dig up a lead, any lead. Why did you jackrabbit out of L.A.? Why bail out in such a hurry? Those were the best ten hours of my entire life! My God, it feels so good to hold you again.”

She struggled in his arms. “I said let go of me or else—”

“Or else what? You’ll take sexual advantage of me? Again?” He shifted to pin her with his groin, sandwiched her against the sturdy workbench. “Little hellcat.”

She felt his erection through his uniform trousers, his stiff cock pressed against her. Damn it all to hell, her sex heated to flash point so fast any hint of common sense flew out the window. A traitorous groan escaped before she could prevent it.
How the
hell does he manage to light my fire at warp-speed?

His hands on her shoulders, MacBride tried to turn her to face him.

She resisted. “No. This way.”

“What?”

“I said, take me this way.”

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s possible. Do it now. Quickly. Before someone walks in.”

MacBride hesitated, so she rubbed her ass slowly, sensually, against his solid erection. “Now or not at all, sailor boy.”

“I’ll sailor boy you.” He shoved her shorts and panties to her ankles. She heard his zipper as he released his cock to press against her, as hard and as thick as she remembered. Leaning forward, his mouth brushed her ear, whispered. “Forget sailor boy. I liked it better when you cried
ooh baby
as you came on my cock. And came. And came.” He reached between her thighs and fingered her. “Damn, girl, you’re already wet for me.”

“Stop talking!” She nearly hissed in her frustration, unable to disguise the raw naked yearning in her voice, pissed off at herself for falling victim to his presence.

She heard him rip open a condom packet; two seconds later, he’d buried his lubricated shaft in her hot flesh. In her hot, needy flesh. Once again, he stretched her to the limit, that delicious burn as perfect as she remembered.

MacBride pulled back enough to slide his arm around and under her pelvis, reached her clit with long strong fingers, as the tender lips of her labia unfolded and clung tightly to his shaft. He rolled the bud between forefinger and thumb, then sharply tapped his fingertip against the nerve bundle above the hood of the swollen nub. Again.

And again.

”
Omigod, sweet Jesus
, whatever you just did, do it again, I’m right there, baby, I need to come on your cock, I missed this … .”
Oh shit, did I just say that out loud?
She wriggled her hips against him.
Maybe he didn’t hear me. Maybe he’s too busy. Maybe … oh
shit, oh sweet Christ!

He slid his hands under the sides of her backless halter-top and over her high firm breasts, kneaded the stiff points of her nipples. Then reached down, rolled, and flicked her clit again.

With no pillow to muffle the sound, she thrust her forearm against her mouth to keep from screaming his name as she came. His orgasm burst free a few seconds later, as her pussy walls gripped his shaft. He grasped her waist, pumped into her until there was nothing left except the harsh sound of their hoarse breathing.

Keko rested her elbows on the workbench, while she willed her pulse to slow.

Great, now I’ll have splinters, as well as rug burns
. Her hair worked free of the barrette.

Long, black strands draped across her back and shoulders, fell forward over her breasts.

MacBride carefully pulled out, used hand wipes from a container hanging on the wall to clean each of them as well as possible. He found the plastic bag from her lunch in the trash basket, stashed all evidence of their encounter.

Keko pulled up her panties and shorts. “Leave everything. I’ll toss it all.”

MacBride attempted to hold her again, but she wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t raise her face. The heavy curtain of her hair hid her expression. She couldn’t look at him.

“Sheriff, you’d better go before Chandler, or one of his agents, decides to check on my progress.”

“Now I’m the sheriff again? Keko, I can’t leave you like this.”

“Like what? I’m fine. We’ll … talk … later.”

“Keko—”

“MacBride, will you go? Please?”

“You could call me Brian.”

“You could go away.”

“Okay, maybe just Mac?”

“Go! Get out!”

She heard him leave, then she heaved a huge sigh. She retrieved the barrette from the floor, smoothed her hair and clipped it back, leaned against the table to regain her bearings.

What’s wrong with me? Am I brain dead or something? Women were totally lining up to
check him out at the lounge in L.A. He shamelessly flirted with the Junior League woman at the
airport kiosk. He’s gorgeous, he’s hung, he has skills, he’s a player. What are the chances that
this will end happily ever after, like Lorelei and her lovers? No chance, idiot. No chance at all. I’ll
finish up here, hop back to Boston with Kamaka. End of story.

Chandler returned about ten minutes later. From the concerned expression on his face, she must have looked frightful.

“Ms. Holokai, I understand you’re bunking in the lodge at Sanctuary. Sheriff MacBride must have received a call; he left in a cloud of dust before I could ask him to give you a lift. Anyway, one of my men can ferry you to the lodge if you’re not up to driving and finding your way back through the woods. Why not call it a day, grab some shut-eye? You’ve gotta be jet-lagged, and there’s nothing here that can’t wait until tomorrow. Our squints in D.C. are
still
working, and there are more of them than there are of you. You can’t do it all in one day.”

“Agent Chandler, please call me Keko. Y’know what? I’m not even gonna pretend to argue. You’re right. I’m jet-lagged, working on a headache, and I can’t think straight. Something bothered me about the wiring assembly, but I can’t remember what.

I’ll take a fresh look in the morning.”
And my pussy is still pulsing and throbbing from
MacBride’s attentions, and I can smell his sex in the air. It’s making me nuts, and I need to get
away from here
. She wondered if Chandler picked up on the pheromones that must be swirling around the room like crazed hummingbirds.

“All right, Keko, call me Will. Leave this puzzle until tomorrow. Let’s go ‘round front to the courtyard, instead of weaving through the labyrinth of rooms and doors. I’ll grab one of my boys to play chauffeur.”

* * * * *

Keko walked into the Sanctuary lodge through the entryway that opened into the great room.

In the light blue leather grouping, she huddled in an overstuffed wing chair, arms around her knees. She wasn’t quite ready to go to her room.

“Overwhelming, isn’t it?”

Lorelei must have come up from the training center. Her mass of crinkled blonde hair cascaded from its high ponytail. Sweat soaked her sports bra and the waistband of her gym shorts. A towel was wrapped around her neck. She looked lean and hard and fantastic.

“Which part?” Keko felt like a helpless child again.

“The whole package. The lodge. The camp. The isolation. The men.” Lorelei moved the calico cat, then parked on the edge of the sofa.

She wiped droplets of perspiration from her face with the edge of the towel.

“All the men, not just mine. Everyone is military, ex-military, or law enforcement. They live hard, they play hard—sometimes they die hard. None of them is exactly housebroken. We’re just back from visiting Lucian’s people, so the camp isn’t in full swing. If you think it’s tough now, wait until the clients show up.” She grinned.