Rush: A MacKenzie Family Novella (The MacKenzie Family) (3 page)

“This isn’t a social call, Olivia,” Atticus said. “We need your help.”

His tone was hard, urgent—in total contrast to the softer plea in both his and Brant’s eyes. Whatever this was, it was serious, and her own fingers stalled over the drink tray.

“Well, let’s get to it then.”

Brant began. “Katrina Hickman, a twelve-year-old girl, was kidnapped this morning in front of her school. We need you to help us find out where she’s been taken.” He glanced at Atticus. “He is going to lead the extraction team once we locate her but we have no leads about her location.”

“I’m very sorry to hear this but I don’t see…”

Atticus cut her off. His tone was even but she could feel the urgency coming off him in waves. She wanted to get up and put her hands on him, soothe him. In some way this was personal for him.

“We think this could be retaliation against her father, Senator Alan Hickman. My guess is he’s been hanging out with dangerous men, the kind who have no qualms killing a young girl or doing much worse.”

She flinched. She knew what “worse” meant.

Brant joined in. “Your connections, your skill set, your ability to locate things on legitimate and illegitimate markets are what we need right now. This is a very short fuse and Hickman is hiding things from us. We’re going to have to fight dirty to get the intel we need to save this girl.”

She scanned them both, trying to process the information. Yes, she was very good at locating items—especially items that were not on legitimate markets. Her connections around the globe gave her contacts to people who dwelled in the light of day and in the underworld. And yes…she had the gift of taking things. She did see it as a gift; her mind could assess a scene, take apart the puzzle of access, alarms, and security, and then flawlessly and seamlessly remove the item and disappear into the night.

How Brant knew that she did all those things would be a topic for another day. Apparently her usually close-lipped ex-husband had confided in this man and spilled her secrets.

“MacKenzie Security has a plethora of employees who can do what I do. Why not use them?”

“My people are in places where I can’t get them back in time,” he said.

She turned her gaze to Atticus. “This is acceptable to you? Our working together?”

“You know Katrina Hickman, Livvy. She was the young girl who sent me the drawings when we were… together.” He stumbled over the word and her throat tightened with the impact of his vulnerability. “The one who you said—”

“…made me feel like the other woman.” Suddenly it all came back to her. A small, blond-haired girl who worshipped Atticus with an adoration that made your heart ache with its sincerity. She’d been sweet, so lovely. Olivia had liked her, recognizing a girl who was dying for some attention and affection from her own experience. “Oh no, not her.”

His dark eyes locked on hers and this time she couldn’t suppress the shiver. He was clearly upset by this situation—who wouldn’t be?—but this was also personal for him. She could feel his anxious pain just under the surface of his skin, see it in his eyes.

If he’d remained cold and distant she could have agreed with no hesitation, but the pain in his gaze over this girl cut her to the quick. His ability to shut down completely had been something she’d gotten used to during their brief marriage. So, it was the rare glimpses of his huge heart, his massive capacity to care about something that rocked her world.

Even if a sweet little girl hadn’t been in danger, she’d have done it for that look alone.

“I need to pack a few things. I can be ready to go in twenty minutes.”

“Great,” Brant said, rising from his seat and grabbing his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call the pilot and get us cleared to leave.”

He walked away, his phone pressed to his ear as he gave directions. Atticus stared at her across the table, his expression as difficult to read as always.

“Say
something
, Atticus.” How many times had she said that during their time together? “I know this wasn’t your idea.”

“No. It wasn’t.” He stood, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off the tension weighing down the air between them like a humid veil. “But Brant is right. You are the best for this job.”

She rose to her feet, walking over to him. He was much too tall for her to look him directly in the eye but with her heels on, she didn’t have to crane her neck to at least gaze at his chin. He turned and she fought the impulse to step backward. They were closer than she’d planned but she wasn’t going to be the one to yield ground.

“This isn’t a trick, is it?”

“What?” His eyes searched her face, his expression of confusion a welcome change from the glowering he’d done since he’d arrived.

“This isn’t a ploy to get me back in DC and turn me over to the FBI?”

“What? No.”

His hand wrapped around her arm, pulling her close. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the brush of his hair against her bare shoulder. She swayed on her heels a little, enough to cause her to reach out and grasp his hip for balance.

“You can’t blame me for asking,” she said. “The last time we were in the same room together you planned to turn me in.”

He inhaled sharply. “You have my word.”

“Do I?” His eyes narrowed at her question, not liking the fact that she’d questioned him. Well, that was just too bad. “Do I?”

She leaned up before she knew what she was going to do, shock racing over her skin and causing goose bumps when their lips met. It was barely a brush of skin on skin, the heat of their breaths slickening the slow glide of their lips. It wasn’t until she did it that she realized how much she’d missed it, wanted it.

Olivia pulled away, backing completely out of his zone.

 “Why did you do that?” he asked, his body turning away slightly as if he needed even more distance between them.

She said the first thing that came to her mind, the truth of the matter. There was no honor among thieves but Atticus had his own personal code and it was unbreakable.

“With our past, this bargain had to be sealed with a kiss.”

He let out a sharp bark of taut laughter, the first hint of a smile, and she responded in kind. When he did that, she couldn’t fail to respond. It had gotten her in trouble with him before. She needed to be careful.  “Judas betrayed with a kiss, Livvy.”

She gave him a long, lingering look before turning toward the house. She needed to pack clothes and her tools.

“You might be many things, Atticus Rush, but you are no Judas.”

Chapter Three

Rush really hated pretentious pricks.

He didn’t like many people, period, but he really despised pretentious pricks.

Senator Hickman was the pretentious prick that every up-and-coming prick in Washington, DC aspired to be. He was also a criminal and had a morality that was so far into the darkness it resembled those weird mutant fish that existed in the depths of the ocean. Blind and oddly colored like C-4 explosive.

A bottom dweller. That’s what Hickman was. And if it wasn’t for an innocent young girl, he would’ve kept his promise to never do anything for him again.

“Mr. Scott.” The senator rose from behind his desk and extended his hand to Brant. The office was huge, decorated in “early presidential aspiration” and spanned almost the entire width of his expensive DC townhouse. “Thank you and MacKenzie Security for handling this for me.”

Brant shook his hand, his own smile equally fake and tight. “As I told you, our firm is booked with other missions but I’ve brought on the best to lead in the rescue of Katrina.” He motioned to Rush. “I know you’re familiar with Rush.”

The senator stilled, his face losing all trace of civility. The cold, harsh expression on his face was the real deal and when you saw it, you realized that the other was a mask. Unfortunately enough people were fooled that he kept getting reelected.

“Is he the best you can do, Scott?” the senator asked, his voice loud and ugly. He was obviously going to act like he hadn’t requested for Rush to do this for him. He couldn’t even be straight up when his daughter’s life was on the line.

“He’s
the best
,” Brant said and Rush got tired of being only the subject of this conversation.

He advanced into the room, his heavy boots thumping loudly on the hardwood floors. They all turned to face him—Brant frustrated at his failure to follow directions to make nice with the assholes and Hickman’s face flushed an angry red. Rush stopped in the middle of the room, arms crossed and eyes sharp.

“I’d love to keep discussing how big my dick is but we’ve got a little girl to save and
you asked
for me because I’m the one to get it done. So, why don’t we cut all the bullshit and you tell me who you’ve been playing with, Alan? What dirty pig have you been rolling in the mud with and what did you do to put your daughter at risk?”

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Hickman fumed.

“I don’t look like I’m in uniform anymore, do I?” Rush looked down at his clothes and back up with a smirk on his face. “I can talk to you any way I want.”

“Gentleman, we have a young girl who needs our help. Do we need to whip them out and measure or can we just move on? I’m sure I have a little ruler in my purse.” Livvy walked right into the middle of the testosterone circle and stared them all down, one by one. Dressed all in black—high heels with a sexy ankle strap, dressy short-shorts, and a top that slipped down and exposed a creamy shoulder—she was pretty fucking magnificent. She stuck out her hand for Hickman.

“Lady Olivia Rutledge-Cairn,” she said, casting her eyes in a slow circle around the room, her smile sweet with a hint of wicked. “I’m here to help in any way—”

She tripped and lurched forward into Hickman. He reached out and caught her, his disgust morphing into a leer and hands wandering in dangerous proximity to her ass. Rush growled and Livvy laughed and scooted out of grope range while still sending out a “catch me if you can” vibe. He didn't like it. Not one fucking bit. Every part of him screamed that she was his but he had a court issued document that said otherwise.

“I’m so sorry. These heels are ridiculous.” She swept her hand down toward her mile-long legs and Hickman was too busy ogling to notice her slip his phone into her purse. He knew the remote cloning device located inside the bag was now sending the contents of the phone to Elena for retrieval and dissection. Damn, she was good. He could almost forget that her life’s vocation was taking things that belonged to other people. “Could we sit down?”

“Yes, of course,” Hickman said, making sure he got the seat next to her on the loveseat and moving in close. Asshole. His daughter was missing, his wife was likely doped on a pill the doc gave her, and he was trying to cop a feel. Rush remained standing. “My condolences on the death of your father. The earl was a great friend of the United States.”

Livvy bit her bottom lip, her one tell about her emotions when something upset her. She’d been close to her father, their age difference making him more like a grandfather. While her mother had lived the jet-set life with lovers in Monte Carlo, her older brothers had largely ignored her and she been raised by the staff when allowed to be at home and not shipped off to boarding school. He’d sent flowers to the service, their only communication post-divorce, and he still had the short note of thanks she’d sent him. Rush shook off the memory, getting his head back in the game.

“Thank you, but we’re here to get Katrina back.” Livvy shifted the conversation back to the point with no hint of censure in her voice. She was good at the diplomacy thing.

“Yes.” Hickman glanced at them all. “I sent the voice recording from the kidnapper to your people at MacKenzie Security. It didn’t say anything except that they had her and would be in touch within the next twenty-four hours with a ransom demand.”

“I heard it. We all did,” Brant said. “Next time we need to demand proof of life.”

“Proof of…” Hickman’s face paled and it was the first time he’d shown any kind of normal reaction as a father. “They won’t get any money if they kill her.”

“The fact that they haven’t asked for money at this point means that it isn’t their reason for the kidnapping,” Rush said, his eyes focused on the senator’s face for any clue about what was really going on here. His gut told him that this was about Hickman. “So, I have to ask again: who the fuck did you piss off?”

“Rush…” Brant warned but he ignored him.

“I’m going to risk my ass and the lives of all the people who are going to help me get Katrina back in one piece for you. You need to tell me what dirty, rotten things you’ve been up to and tell me now. I don't mind getting my conscience dirty, you know this, but don’t send me out there in the goddam dark.”

Hickman stared at him, his eyes shooting daggers and every kind of modern and ancient weaponry he could. Yeah, they hated each other’s guts, but that was the same old song on a different fucking day.

“I’ve recently had to disappoint some of my contacts in the Ukraine.”

Rush chewed on that for a minute. “What you mean is that you promised something you can’t deliver to some assholes who are the mob or connected to the mob in Eastern Europe.”

“My position on the committee for foreign relations requires me to deal with people from more volatile nations. It sometimes happens that they are related to some form of criminal activity. We do our best to navigate the murky waters to achieve security for the United States and our citizens who live abroad.”

What a crock of shit.

“And the side deals you make for yourself are just icing on the cake,” Rush added.

Hickman glared but he didn’t deny it. He knew better than to try and deny it with Rush. He was one of the few men who knew just how many closets full of skeletons this man had. It was why he no longer did any kind of business with him.

“So, just drop the speech and tell me what we need to know to get your daughter back.”

Hickman dropped his gaze and sighed. “I have no idea where they could have taken her.”

Just before he broke eye contact Rush saw the fear there. One of these people scared him worse than the others, so much that he was hesitant to tell them to save his own daughter.