Code of Control (18 page)

Nolan closed his
eyes, checking his laughter. “Charlotte, sweetheart?”

“Yes…
Devon
?”

“If we get out
of this mess…”

“When…” she
interrupted, stopping him mid-stride.

He took a breath
and restarted. “
When
we get out of this mess…I am going to take you over
my knee and teach you a lesson sorely deserved. If anyone should know the
brother
is not gay, it should be you.” His eyes reopened to the shocked look on her
face. She then smiled.

“Oh, can’t wait.
Bring it on. Should be a ton of fun. Your brother wasn’t into anything kinky, very
vanilla. Perhaps I’ll even spank you, play a little dominatrix when the lights
dim.”

The vehicle
started slowing. Nolan quickly set his finger to his lips, although the thought
of Charlotte with a whip in her hand and full body in hot and sexy leather had
him a little worried.

“Now what?” she
whispered, craning her neck to look ahead. The vehicle behind them sounded as
if it had stopped, too.

“Now, we find
out why they know Devon,” he said.

She grabbed his
face, planted another kiss on his lips, and when she drew back there were tears
in her eyes. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Nolan swallowed
against the tightness in his throat. “I don’t want to lose you, either. It’s
hard to train partners, especially the good ones.”

“Then let me
have the control.”

It was difficult
for a man to give in, but he did, handing Charlotte the reins. He was in too much
agony to argue against anything.

The back of the
vehicle opened and the big man from before stood with his arms crossed. “Get
out!”

Another man
stepped forward and yelled at them, too. “Movimieto!”

Nolan struggled
to get out of the vehicle, Charlotte helping him, both then shoved toward a
small metal building. This was not a Mayan ruin, so Charlotte must have
misunderstood their captor’s destination.

“Get inside,”
the big man said.

“Where are we?” Nolan
asked him.

“Not your
concern, Mr. Morgan.”

“It is, if you
want me to cooperate.”

“We don’t need
you to cooperate…anymore,” the man said.

Nolan turned
toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The big man
nodded toward one of his cohorts, who produced a carryon from behind him,
tossing it at their feet. Charlotte’s groan was loud. Nolan could not keep his
inside, either. In front of his feet was Charlotte’s carryon from the
airplane…the manila envelope Devon had given her before departure sticking out
of it, open and most of the papers crumpled as if read.

The big man then
bent and removed her wallet from the carryon, opening it in front of their
faces. “Charlotte Raven, United States Federal Bureau of Investigation. At
least she’s not from the DEA, boys.” His grin turned enormous. “Ms. Raven, I
presume?” he asked Charlotte.

She did not
answer him, turning away.

He then nodded
and another bag came quickly to Nolan’s feet. This time it was his.

“Open it!” the
man ground out.

Nolan’s gut
turned watery. He could not do it in front of Charlotte. She had no clue he’d even
brought it with him.

“Want her to do
it for you?” the creep asked with a self-satisfied grin on his face.

Nolan took a
step toward the man, guns raised at his chest.

“I mean…she does
look curious,” the guy taunted.

“Devon?” Charlotte
whispered, her voice a higher pitch, signaling her fear.

Nolan could not
look at her. The fat man nodded and another man unzipped the bag in front of him
and Charlotte. Inside the carryon was the twenty-million dollars
OSHIT
had planned to exchange for their missing operative. Nolan closed his eyes. He
hadn’t soured. He was covering their asses. The money was what he’d asked Devon
about back in Iowa, and his careless brother then telling him he’d left it in
the car, unprotected.

“It’s not what
you think,” he said quickly, staring at her face.

Charlotte’s cheeks
turned red then white, and the blue in her eyes had somehow dimmed. Her huge
gasp did not sit too well inside him, either.

“It’s exactly
what I think,” she warned.

Nolan shook his
head. “No. It’s not.”

“Then start
explaining it to me,
Devon
,” she continued.

“Yes, Mr.
Morgan, start explaining why we had to go out and find the money from inside a
downed airplane,” the big man said. “Money you owe us for certain, shall we
say…favors.”

Charlotte
whipped her attention to the man. “Were there any survivors, beside us?”

His huge grin
contradicted his next chilling words.
“No lo hizo sobrevivir ya sea.”

Charlotte
gasped, covering her mouth.

Nolan could well
imagine her thoughts to being told that no survivors meant them, as well. He quickly
repeated his earlier sentiment. “She has nothing to do with this!”

The man turned
to him in truest bully form. “As I have said before,
Amigo
, she has
everything to do with this.” He then turned to Charlotte, laughing in her face.
“Isn’t the right, Ms. Romane?”

Chapter Twenty

Charlotte could
not look at Nolan, literally. Physically she had no choice.

He was judging
her wrongly, and she’d done nothing to deserve the censorship—at least nothing
she was aware of doing that should concern him at this point.

How dare he
think she had something to do with these men just because they knew her name?
Any teenager with a computer and technical curiosity—and brains—could hack into
anywhere and find what they most needed. The world was filled with hackers,
every shape and size.

“I should
seriously look into how I find and attract guys,” she muttered under her
breath.

She and Nolan
tied together, back to back, sitting on a filthy floor, there was nothing else
to do but contemplate on how screwed up her life was. The seven men had left,
for God knows where, and when they were coming back was a whole other mystery.
They’d taken Nolan’s carryon with the twenty million dollars, locking them into
a back room, no windows, one door. Her claustrophobia hurdled into overdrive,
she drew in shallow breaths to keep from passing out.

“What was that?”
he construed, shifting to his right.

“Nothing, and
stop moving. When you move then I have to, and I don’t want to.”

“You said
something about finding and attracting men.” He bent forward, groaning aloud.

“Nolan!”

“What?”

“That hurts!”

“This is no
fucking picnic for me, either. I have a rib sticking into my organs. What’s
your excuse?”

“W—what’s my…”
She did not continue, flabbergasted he could turn this around on her; place the
blame of his injuries onto her shoulders. It was not her fault they’d jumped
from an airplane.

“I’m still
waiting for you to tell me how they know your real name,” he said caustically.

His accusation
made her feel as helpless as a tiny boat caught up in fifteen-foot waves. “How
should I know how they know me?” she commented dryly, forcing down the engorged
lump in her throat.

“I mean…”

“I don’t know! I
already told you this. Can’t we discuss something else?”

“You did tell me
your real name when at home,” he continued undaunted, almost as if talking out
his thoughts, “but not much else.”

“I should not
have told you even that, if you keep using it against me,” she muttered rudely.

Five minutes
later, the silence in the room was strangulating. She had to keep pursing her
lips to keep from passing out, sweat drenching her body, dehydration and fear
draining her dry.

“Just admit the
truth. We are not going to get out of this, so you might as well start at the
beginning,” he said.

How dare he say
they were not going to get out of this? He could not give up on her now. She
yanked on the binds just to warn him she was in no mood for defeat, or
defecting from their short-lived partnership.

“Dammit,
Charlotte!”

Shame burned
through her soul, albeit short-lived.

“No, damn you.
We will get out of this if it is the last thing I do. I did not survive a plane
crash only to die inside a locked room with you, running out of air because you
can’t keep your big mouth shut.”

“They tied us
together. I can barely move. My legs are numb. They have guns and we don’t. The
least of our problems is running out of air or my big mouth.”

“Let me think,”
she said. “Would you?”

“Great, while
you think, I’ll sit here and accept a slow and painful death while tied to a
lying bitch, who I feel is holding something back that I should probably know
at this point.”

“I’m not holding
anything back and you’re not dying…”

His sharp intake
of breath proved otherwise. “Broken rib, remember? The more you move, the worse
I feel.”

Even though he just
called her a bitch the remorse hit her hard. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting
you’re broken.”

“Damaged, sweetheart,
not broken,” he insisted; his arrogance hitting an all-time high at the dumbest
possible moment.

“You’re seriously
damaged, and most of it is in the head,” she said rudely, their harmony
skidding off the tracks again. Perhaps she hadn’t conjured up forgiveness
toward him calling her a bitch, or that he thought her as lying to him.

“Are we back to playing
hot and cold games again?” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“One minute you
want me, the next you’re clawing at my throat by way of snide remarks.”

“Yeah? Well,
you’re not such great company to be with, either, Mr. Morgan.”

“Why? Wish Devon
was here with you instead of me?”

Charlotte drew
in a breath, held it, hoping these words would not get to her. Too late. They
did. “You’re such an ass.”

“I know. You’ve
told me this plenty of times since we met.”

“Yeah? Well, this
time I meant it.”

“Charlotte?”

“What?”

“Calm the
undies.”

“Fuck you.”

“Please do. It
might relieve some of the pain surging through my body—at least put my mind
onto other, more important things.”

“More important…ugh!”
She growled aloud then said, “For your information my undies are as calm as
they are ever going to get.”

“You are such a
liar.”

Tiny bursts of
breath closed off the shock of him continually pointing out how he felt.

“You’re so much
fun. I’m so glad I hired you,” he added, his words mumbled.

She was not
going to remain mute through this one. “You did not hire me. Your conscience
forced you into it.”

“Well, that
too.”

Lowering her
tone of voice, she suddenly asked, “Are we really going to let the last few
hours of our lives rush away by arguing with each other?”

“I’d much rather
be making love to you, but I’m sort of tied up here, so there’s really only one
option for me, and we argue rather efficiently, don’t we?” He paused, groaning
again. “Dammit!”

“What now?”

“You and I had
something good, a strange bond if you will. We spend most of the time at each
other’s throat, but when it really counts is when we start acting like
partners. I’ve had a bit of time to think this out in my head.”

She did not want
him thinking anything in his head. She wanted Nolan feeling things straight from
the heart. This did not seem the reality, the man always analytical and pushing
away the physical from his life. He and her were fric an frac, night and
day—polar opposites, same as he and Devon. They’d never work as a
relationship—it was demanding enough just to be his partner.

“I think our
sexual relationship screwed us up,” she interjected, working life’s kinks out
through her thoughts.

“How so?”

“If we hadn’t
had sex before knowing each other we might have dealt with each other in a
whole different way.”

It was odd being
able to talk to him about this when their lives were on the line and not able
to face each other, but maybe this way was better. Sometimes hiding facial
expressions kept mistaken judgements away, and Lord knows they’d both judged
each other from the very beginning.

Dragging in a
deep breath, she released the air in a slow hiss; a bit sad she could not look
at him. He had a face any woman would desire to stare at all day long.

“You okay?” he
asked.

Even when broken
and in agony, someone else’s welfare was the first thing on his mind. Charlotte
nodded, knowing he felt the movement.

Minutes later
the silence dug too deep into her psyche. “Nolan?” she probed.

“Yeah?” He
sounded weary but still able to take measure and respond correctly.

“Would you have
pursued a relationship with me—eventually?” she asked.

“You mean
sexual?”

“No. I mean
commitment style, as in asking me out on a date. That sort of thing.”

He remained
silent for too long before saying, “Probably.”

“Probably?”

She groaned
internally, knowing when not to start trouble with a man like him—defeated and
broken, but sure of what he wanted out of life. Still,
probably
was not
what she’d wanted to hear.

His massive
shoulders shrugged, making hers move, as well.

“Yes, probably.
I like what I see when I look at you, even if I don’t believe what you say most
of the time. I guess dating would have crept in—eventually. The age thing is a
bit of a problem for me, but I could have assuredly gotten around that.”

“Age thing?”

“I’m seasoned. I
have a daughter damned near the same age you are.”

“So?”

“That’s a bit of
an issue for me.”

Thankfully, he
could not see her sudden frown.

When he’d said
eventually
it had taken on the undertone of
never—then throw in the age difference?
Their
age hadn’t mattered to him before; surely not while riding him in a cheap hotel
room and in the deep throes of incredible ecstasy.

Shit. She had to
stop thinking about how good it had been. She might never have it again, and
the last thing she wanted on her brain was the inability to have something so
great just thinking about it wetted the undies. Or, as Nolan put it, made her
undies a bit un-calm. She needed to soften the blow to her heart from this loss.

“I like what I
see when I look at you, too,” she parroted.

“Sex was
inevitable between us, however. We were like magnets that night,” he continued.

“Polar opposite
magnets,” she added laughingly.

“Opposites do attract.”

“And damn if we
hadn’t made the most of that attraction,” she said softly, “combining it with a
ton of alcohol and loose morals.”

“Want a repeat
of that night? I’m only asking this because you’re already stuck to me, and if
we somehow swing our bodies around…”

Oh, God, did she
ever what him again! Just talking about sex coursed the heat through her entire
system. But, wanting and getting were two different things for her.

“Um, we’re sort
of tied up here, but thanks for the offer, Gramps.”

“And your point
is, Jailbait?” he mused aloud, pushing her over the edge, little by little.

She shoved the oncoming
mutiny aside. “I don’t have a point. I’m just saying it’ll be a little hard to
achieve in the position we are in,” she said. “I can barely move, let alone try
to turn around.”

“Oh, believe me…if
you want to discuss hard, hell, I’m as hard as I’m going to get in this
position. Just giving this a bit of honesty, babe. Nothing but open honesty,
and at this point it’s the most I can do. But the next time you call me Gramps,
I’m going to make you eat those words one syllable at a time.”

Charlotte
giggled, enjoying the unguarded moment—even if tied up and it perhaps their
last moments alive, as beads of perspiration ran down her neck, Nolan’s back
sweaty against hers, the man producing a lot of heat in such a small room.

In the silence
that followed, consuming her thoughts, any sexual fantasy fell to the wayside, taking
a violent nosedive into the cesspool of reality. They were not getting out of
this alive. Survival in the Belize jungle was no longer foreseeable. Nolan
would never be a grandfather. She was not going to see the age of twenty-five. Cartel
thugs were making certain of this.

The dull ache
inside her chest turned almost violent, an aftereffect to any remorse toward
continuous lies to a man worthy of knowing the truth.

“Nolan?”

“Yes,
Charlotte?”

“There’s
something I need to tell you.”

“Oh, my God,
you’re pregnant. You should have told me sooner. I would have made a
respectable woman out of you.”

“Want more pain
than you already have, Mr. Morgan?”

“No, please,” he
said boyishly, shifting his weight again.

“Then shut the
hell up and listen to what I have to say,
Gramps.
”

“Low blow, Jailbait.
You know that title is a father’s worst nightmare when having a daughter
Carolyn’s age.”

“I’m sorry. I
should not have gone there.”

“Forgiven this
time, but not forgotten.”

“Gee, how very
big of you.”

“And you should
know,” he chuckled.

She yanked on
the binds.

“Okay, enough
already! I’m listening.”

Through the sudden
drumming of her heart, telling the truth was so damn hard. Perhaps there was a
better way; she could slow-foot it to what she knew would make him look at her
in a different way—a bad way. He was an unpredictable man. He might just leave
her here out of spite.