Wild Card (39 page)

Noah's tongue. "John, stay on Miss James. See if you can get her to talk. Micah, make certain

you report to your job at the local police station a bit early. See what you can hear." He turned

to Travis Caine. "Set up in the hills above the Patrick ranch. See what you can see. Make

certain to stay out of sight."

Travis nodded sharply, his aristocratic features cool and composed.

"Nik, you're with Noah at the garage. We know the gossip that flows through there. You two

keep your ears open, and be ready for any fallout."

Nik nodded while Noah watched his uncle carefully.

"Are you expecting fallout?" Noah asked then.

"I always expect fallout," Jordan informed him. "Go through your file. Gossip attained

throughout the county points to the BCM's interest in acquiring that garage. Belle was

considered an easy mark to take out, but they couldn't kill her. That would have roused too

much interest from me personally. I would have investigated the murder of my nephew's wife

and they knew it. After her little venture into the night life tonight, I'd expect to see a few

interested parries coming around though. Let's see who takes up that interest."

Noah froze. He stared at his uncle, feeling a tight ball of carefully controlled fury beginning to

slip its leash.

"Now, let's move on to the rest of our suspected hunting parties. If you'll turn to page—"

"What did you just say?" Noah asked carefully, aware of the edge to his voice and the tension

that filled the room as Jordan paused and looked back at him in surprise.

"I said, turn to page—"

"What venture into what night life?" His teeth clenched, he swore he felt something explode in

his head.

Jordan arched his brow coolly. "Does it matter? Our only interest in her at this point is the

location of her business and the militia's interest in it."

Noah rose slowly to his feet, his fingertips pressing into the wood with enough force to turn the

tips white.

"What venture? What night life?"

"Agent Blake, are you forgetting something? The mission is our objective here, not the bar

where one lone citizen is having a girls' night out. Agreed?"

Something exploded. Detonated. Noah felt the implosion in his brain.

Friday night. In Alpine. In a bar.

Girls' night out, his ass. Sabella had known better than that shit even six years before. She

knew what the weekends were like in those bars. She knew being a single woman out on the

town on a Friday night was like throwing fresh meat to wolves.

"Like fucking hell." The guttural force of the curse cut through the room before he jerked back from the table, slamming his chair and the wall and striding from the meeting room.

He ignored the sharp command in Jordan's voice as he called him back.

He'd signed on for the mission. He'd accepted his death and let his wife go. That was what he

had told himself since walking back into her life. He was doing her a favor. He was teaching

her to live again, not to love again. He was going to walk out of her life the same way he had

walked into it. With no fanfare, no heartbreak. Simple. To the point.

God. Loving her was killing him. Destroying him. And the thought, the knowledge, that she

had taken him at his word, no strings, no commitment, was burning inside his head like a

supernova as he tore down the metal steps leading to the cement parking area. He hit the

security button, releasing the lock on the heavy doors, and listened to them slide open as he

straddled the Harley and twisted the key in the ignition.

With no more than an inch to spare on the door, he was speeding out, lights off, his gaze

narrowed against the darkness as he shot through the canyon and hit the dirt road beyond.

As he hit the main road, he flipped the lights on and laid the gas to the Harley.

A venture into the night life on a Friday night in Alpine? Like hell.

He jerked his cell phone from his belt as he rode out of the blackout surrounding the bunker.

The message indicator was flashing. Hitting the button, he held it to his ear and listened to

Rory's threats.

Tell Grandpop, would he? He was going to strangle that little bastard. What the hell was he

thinking, letting Sabella go out like that? Dammit to hell, all shit was about to hit the fan and

Sabella was out partying? A girls' night out with Kira Richards and Sienna Grayson.

God help them all.

God help him. Because he knew what he was doing. What he was going to do. He was going to

drag her ass out of that bar, stake his ownership on her, and destroy them both when he was

forced to leave.

Because he couldn't stay. And if he tried, then sooner or later he'd trip himself up. He wouldn't

be able to hide the truth from her forever and he knew it. And once she knew, once she

understood what had become of her husband, how could she forgive him? She wouldn't forgive

him. He'd left her alone for over four years after he'd been rescued. He hadn't let her come to

him, he'd given his life to the Elite Ops rather than her. How could she forgive him for that? A

contract he couldn't break, missions he couldn't refuse, and the chances would increase with

each one that he wouldn't return.

She was attached to Noah Blake. A rebound lover. She'd realized that in time, he had told

himself. Tried to convince himself of it. Convince her of it.

But as he hit town, possessiveness, arousal, and sheer male fury burned through his mind, and

he knew better. There was no convincing him, because he knew the truth.

No matter who or what he was, Sabella owned him. She always had, and she always would.

And that left a decision he had to make soon. If he walked away, he'd have to walk away

forever. If he stayed, eventually, he'd have to tell her the truth and he knew it. Because he knew

his Sabella. Eventually, she would figure it out.

Friday night at the Borderline was no place for a woman to be without her husband or

significant other, Sabella thought with an edge of mockery as she sipped at her wine and

watched the cowboys eyeing their table.

A half dozen had already asked her, Kira, and Sienna to dance. Sienna danced. She loved to

dance and she wasn't particular about who she danced with.

Ian had joined Kira not long after they arrived. He sat in a chair behind his wife, his expression

amused, his chin propped on his wife's shoulder as she talked to him during the louder portions

of the live band belting out a facsimile of country music's current hits.

"You're not dancing, Sabella." Kira watched the dance floor with a gleam of laughter in her

gray eyes. "I thought you'd enjoy it as much as Sienna does."

Sabella looked out to where Sienna was dancing with two cowboys.

She used to enjoy dancing, but not with a bunch of cowboys. A smile tugged at her lips. Nathan

had always made dancing fun rather than making her feel she was being interviewed as a

possible one-night stand.

Her lips thinned at the thought. No, she was his one-night stand now.

"Come on, Belle. Dance with me."

Her head lifted and she had to laugh. Martin Sloes was a friend of Rory's. Young. His hazel

eyes were filled with laughter and he was just a little bit tipsy. He held a bottle of beer in one

hand.

He was swinging his hips, his snug Wranglers a little too tight in the crotch and his western

shirt unbuttoned halfway down his smooth chest. His dark brown hair was close-cut, a little

goatee tried to grow at his chin.

She shook her head as his gaze roved over her bare legs and he gave her a lecherous waggle of

his brows.

They were the same age, but she felt years older.

"Not tonight, Martin. Maybe next time."

"You're a coldhearted woman," he said, pouting, but he moved off to the next table and the

little coeds sitting there.

Sabella laughed at the pout. Martin was a charmer, or wanted to be. An overgrown kid with

more money in his pocket than good sense in his head. And she knew on his pay he wasn't

overrun with money.

"This is a friendly little town." Kira leaned forward, her expression filled with laughter over the exchange.

Sabella glanced back at Ian. His gaze, for just a second, was hard, cold as he looked out over

the dance floor. He was working. She just wondered what the hell Kira was doing.

"It has its moments," she agreed as Sienna plopped into her chair and waved her hand over her

flushed face.

"Damn, those cowboys are wearing me out," she said, laughing.

For a moment, Sabella wondered at the changes she saw in her friend. Not that Sienna hadn't

always loved to dance, but she did it more vigorously now, and flirted a hell of a lot more than

she used to.

As the music slid into a slower tune, Sienna was back on her feet, this time with Martin, and

Kira and Ian moved from the table to the dance floor as well.

Sabella shook her head at the three offers she was given and turned her attention to the crowd

filling the Borderline Bar instead.

She pretended she didn't see Rory and Toby sitting in the back, along the side of the room she

was on. Rory was nursing a beer and glowering, while Toby had what looked like a soda and

was glowering at Rory. Evidently, Rory wasn't letting him have the beer.

What the hell were they doing following her? Babysitting her?

She let her nail tap against the table as she considered that. No doubt Noah would be worrying

that whatever he was up to would slap back at her, as it nearly had Toby. Which didn't make

sense, because as far as she could tell, Noah wasn't actually doing anything. He worked on cars.

Spent his evenings torturing her, and other than a few nights a week that he disappeared with

Nik, she couldn't find a single clue that he was anything other than what he pretended to be. A

mechanic. One that liked to get into knife fights, obviously.

She lifted her beer and sipped at it, almost grimacing at the bitter taste. Maybe tomorrow, she'd

crack open another of those vintage heirloom wines Nathan had once been so fond of. Not that

he had ever drunk the damned things. He'd just collected them.

Like he had collected his truck and his wife.

"Hey, Belle. Dance with me." Jason Dugall, one of the Malone cowboys, stepped up to her as

the music picked up its beat again. "Come on. You don't wanna just sit here all night."

His brown eyes sparkled with fun, his blond hair was sweat dampened and falling over his

brow.

"One dance." She picked up her beer, took a large drink, then rose to her feet and let him take her hand and lead her out to the dance floor.

She hadn't danced in years, but the steps came back to her naturally. Within minutes she was

laughing, twisting. Jason was a good dancer. A fun dancer. He didn't touch below the waist,

they laughed when she screwed up the steps and he would swing her around to get her back in

step.

They finished the song and moved into another, then another. She let her mind drift,

remembering the nights she and Nathan had spent dancing here when they went out with

friends. And it was fun. It was something she hadn't done since she and Nathan had been

married, for one reason or another.

Finally, her legs weak and her mouth dry, she waved off another dance and headed for the

table. From the corner of her eye she saw movement and turned.

A path opened to the door and Noah Blake came striding in like the biker bad boy from hell.

Leather chaps over snug jeans. Kick-ass boots on his feet. A leather jacket over a black T-shirt.

His blue eyes blazed like hell on fire in his dark face and his black hair was windblown,

mussed, and lying to his shoulders in erotic disarray. As though the wind had loved his hair as

he rode. Combed invisible fingers through it and left it lying in just the right way to reveal the

rugged savagery of the re-formed bones and angles of his face.

And he was heading straight for her.

The music drifted away, a slow sensual tune heated up the dance floor, and she felt her

breathing become harder, deeper.

Two days. She had been without him for two days. And it had been hell. How was she going to

make it without him when he left to sort-things-out?

He strode to her, that loose-hipped dangerous swagger that made her mouth dry and her pulse

pound. And before she realized his intention, his arms went around her and he pulled her into

the softly swaying crowd.

It was like making love. Like long, slow sex.

His hands gripped her hips, hers pressed against his chest, fingers curling beneath the vest as

they moved to the music.

"Having fun?" His eyes raged, his voice deepened, darkened.

"Of course." She let her hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, moved in closer, and let

herself feel him.

Oh God, how was she supposed to do without him again? How was she supposed to go on

when he went off to sort his little things out?

She was married. She wasn't a widow, she wasn't a divorcee. She was married and she still

loved her husband, even if somehow, somewhere, his love for her had died.

She let her head fall against his chest, her eyes close. A memory, she told herself. Something to

hold on to when he was gone again. And his arms folded around her, held her close until her

bare legs were sliding against the leather chaps, reminding her of the leather seats of the pickup

and the scent of sex that infused it now.