When he guards, p.12
When He Guards, page 12
“Bullshit.”
“I’m good,” she repeated, stubbornness entering her voice.
He turned back to the front. Gripped the handlebars. A moment later, they were hurtling through the night.
Gray didn’t always go into the field. Okay, fine, the truth was that his bosses didn’t want him in the field. They kept promoting his ass through the ranks, and at this rate, all they wanted him to do was sit in the office, make profiles, and be a pompous dick who ordered other agents around.
He did have the pompous dick part down to an art, but…
Every now and then, he definitely liked walking back into the field.
Night had fallen. He’d hopped on a quick flight, then rented a car to get to his current destination. A crime scene at a no-tell motel. The local sheriff had been stunned that the Feds had any interest in the random motel shooting in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi.
But Gray knew it wasn’t random. And he had to clean up after people some days. Such was life. And death.
He paused a moment outside room four at the Grove Motel. Gray surveyed the scene, then he cut through the crime scene tape on the broken door.
“I think someone died in there.” A quiet voice to his left.
He turned. Saw the kid. Maybe seven or eight years old.
Hell. He had a soft spot for kids. Especially kids with big, scared eyes. Kids who were huddled in rundown motels.
Because I was one of those kids a long time ago.
“Nah, no one died in there,” he assured the kid. Not like he wanted to give her nightmares.
Her breath expelled in a relieved rush.
Someone died in the exact spot I’m standing in. Right here. Not in the room. He could see the blood drops. Automatically, though, he directed his flashlight away from those blood drops. Not like he wanted the kid getting terrified.
“Naomi!” A woman’s sharp cry.
Ah, that would be the mother.
She rushed out of a room about five doors down. She saw her kid talking to a strange man and immediately freaked the hell out.
Good for her.
“Naomi!” The mom broke into a run. She grabbed Naomi by the shoulders and yanked her back. “What have I told you about never talking to strangers?”
“He has a gun, Mom,” Naomi said.
“Oh, God.” Naomi’s mom shoved her daughter behind her back.
“I’m an FBI agent, ma’am.” Gray flashed his ID. Even illuminated it with his flashlight. All while still making sure that he did not shine that light on the bloodstains beneath him. He was a master multitasker that way.
Despite seeing the badge, the mom still scuttled back with her daughter.
“Your daughter is safe with me,” Gray assured her. His head angled to the side. “Your mom is right, Naomi. Don’t talk to strangers. Especially not at night. In front of strange motel rooms.”
The mom bolted with the kid.
Her door slammed seconds later. Gray was fairly certain furniture would be pulled in front of that door for extra security. Good choice.
“You just scared that woman to death.”
His head turned to the left. To the heavy shadows that waited.
Malik Jones walked out.
“I gave her and the kid some pro tips. I think they’ll both appreciate me later.”
Malik grunted.
The guy was just not particularly chatty.
Gray crossed the threshold of room four.
Malik lingered near the doorway. “That’s a lot of blood,” he noted.
Yes, it was. “He was shot in the heart. Bled out fast.”
“Guess the Night Striker doesn’t play.”
Uh, right. The Night Striker. Gray had received a text from Cass. One saying that Cass had taken out the attacker who’d…
He fired first. Three times. No choice.
Then…
I left a dead body for you. Cass had given the location of Findaway, Mississippi, and Cass had known that he had to do cleanup.
Except…
He turned on the lights inside the motel room. “Come inside and shut the door,” Gray ordered him. Not like he wanted Naomi to come in and get an up-close look at his investigation.
The door closed softly.
Gray whistled. When he’d spoken with the local sheriff earlier that day, Gray had ordered the guy to leave room four exactly as is. Sure, the body could be bagged and tagged, but Gray had wanted his own eyes on the scene. He even had his hand-picked evidence team at the ready. They were currently waiting in a van outside.
He ambled toward the bed.
One shot in the pillowcase.
Two shots in the mattress. Technically, the shots had gone through the sheets. He picked them up with a gloved hand. Yep, those two bullets had gone through the sheets and into the mattress.
But…
There was another pillow on the floor. A pillow and a worn, gray blanket. The blanket was stretched out, as if…as if someone had been sleeping on top of it. On the floor?
“Guess the perp thought he was going to catch them unaware.”
Ah, that was a whole sentence from Malik. Impressive. “It would seem so.” What bothered him, though, was the fact that the perp had found Cass and Agnes so quickly.
Did someone sell you out, Cass? Cass had been playing a dangerous game for years. And Gray had warned him, time and again, that he needed to get out.
But Cass had told him it was too late. The only way out was in a body bag.
Well, someone had been taken from that motel in a body bag. Only it hadn’t been Cass.
He let the sheet drop. Gray studied the scene once more.
The pillow on the floor didn’t fall there. It’s positioned deliberately. So is the blanket.
His stare shifted toward the main door.
The wood was broken. The lock shattered. The perp had kicked it in, going for the element of surprise. He’d kicked open the door and immediately aimed for the bed.
Cass had been on the floor, Gray was sure of it. No way would Cass have let Agnes hunker down on the floor while he took the bed.
But…
She hadn’t been hit.
She did the firing.
A good FBI agent would have kept her gun close.
He glanced at the nightstand. She’d probably had it positioned right there.
So, the door had flown open, but Agnes…she hadn’t been asleep. She’d leapt off the bed. Maybe even tried to protect Cass because that was what an FBI agent would do. Only the prick in the doorway would not have run after he fired his three rounds. He would have realized he’d missed his target. He would have been preparing to fire again…
Agnes shot him.
Gray was pretty damn sure that when an ME examined the dead body, they’d find a bullet—maybe two—lodged in him that matched up to the weapon assigned to Agnes.
Gray nodded. Of course, Cass could always say that he’d used her weapon to fire but…
You lied to me, Cass. Agnes is the one who took the shot.
He turned around, studied the room yet again. He always liked to make sure he’d considered every possible element in a crime scene.
The silence stretched and stretched.
“What’s the plan?” Malik finally asked.
He was still working on his plan. But he did think he understood what had gone down in that room. “A gun was recovered near the fallen man. The friendly sheriff told me that three shots had been fired from that weapon.” Three shots that had not found their mark. “Clearly, this is a case of self-defense.” His gaze slid to Malik. “You see anything here that makes you doubt that assessment?”
Malik’s jaw hardened.
Gray sighed. “Spit it out, Agent Jones.”
“I see plenty that makes me think Agnes is a sitting duck. No one is gonna buy that BS scene at The Bottomless Pit.”
Ah, he disagreed. Some would buy it. Some wouldn’t. Some wouldn’t give a shit either way. They would just want her dead. Her and Cass.
Malik took a surging step toward him. “Agnes is alone. She’s defenseless. She has no backup. This case is too risky.”
Four sentences. Nice. But Malik was wrong. “She has backup.”
“Who? The Night Striker?”
“He will protect her.” Gray was certain of that fact.
“Will he? Or will he abandon her in an instant to protect himself?”
Clearly, Malik was not a Cass super fan. He got it. “We don’t need to be worried about Cass at the moment.”
“Uh, yes, yes, I believe we do.”
That was because Malik did not fully understand the situation. Or Agnes. “Shit is gonna hit the fan.” Because he couldn’t really hide a dead body. He could…quiet things, but only for a time. Especially when the ballistics report came back and linked the shooting to her gun.
And certain people—well, they noticed when Agnes wasn’t around. People who had been a pain in his ass for a very long time. Ever since he’d agreed to take Agnes onto his team. In spite of their very, very strong protests against the decision.
Those people. Those two individuals were going to be hugely problematic. The question would just be…could he keep things quiet long enough for Cass to complete his mission? Or would this whole thing explode in his face?
The door creaked open.
Immediately, he whirled for it. So did Malik.
From the corner of his eye, Gray saw that Malik had pulled out his gun.
Gray hadn’t though because…
What if it was the kid?
Shit. Ever since he’d learned that he was gonna be a father, he’d gotten into uber protective mode where kids were concerned. Something that could be dangerous because the person who’d just opened the broken door was not a curious Naomi…
It was a man. Heavy jacket. Shaggy hair. Pissed expression.
Dammit to hell. Talk about someone who’d gotten to the scene fast.
The unwelcome guest filled the doorway. “Where the fuck,” he began, voice a dangerous rumble, “is my sister?”
Gray motioned for Malik to stand down. Not like they needed to have bullets flying unnecessarily. Then he causally positioned himself between Malik and the guy in the doorway. “Your sister?” He scratched his chin. “I’m afraid you are gonna have to be way more specific. I have no clue who you are—”
The man surged toward him. Stopped when they were toe to toe. “Where the fuck,” he said again, “is Agnes?”
“Oh, right. Her. Agnes. Your sister.”
The unwelcome guest glared.
“Hey, Malik? Do me a favor, would you?” Not really a favor. This was an order. “Tell the evidence team in the van to give me five minutes, and then they can come inside.”
Malik stalked out. He closed the broken door behind him.
“You can call, you know,” Gray told the man in front of him. “Or text. No need in you rushing out and appearing in person.” How in the hell had he even known to come here?
“I was told she’d left the FBI. Left you. Taken up with some asshole MC leader.”
“Um. And does that surprise you? Does it surprise anyone?”
The man’s hands fisted. “You were supposed to watch out for her.”
He damn well had been. He’d watched her. Protected her. Freaking interfered in her investigation with the Twins at times in order to protect her. He’d done everything this jackass wanted. “Agnes is a very determined individual.”
“And I’m determined to keep her safe. She will never be broken again.”
Gray pitied the fool who tried to break her. “She’s so much stronger than you understand. She wants justice, and she will not stop.” They were alone. Gray could speak freely. So he did. “I think your sister is going after her end goal. And if we are not careful, if she is not careful, Agnes may just tear down the whole world as she gets her vengeance.”
The man’s eyes—a dark, angry brown—narrowed. “Do you think…” A shake of his head. Not red hair. Black. “That I give a shit about the rest of the world?”
Gray sighed. “Unfortunately, I figured that would be your response.” His phone rang. A loud, shrill, and demanding cry. “Hold the thought for one moment, would you?” He put the phone to his ear, but only because the number came from a VIP at the Bureau. “Not the best time…” Gray curtly informed the caller.
“Thought you might like to know that Judas Long is dead. He was just found with sheets wrapped around his neck and hanging from his cell bars.”
Shit. “Thanks for the update. Talk real soon.” Fuck. He shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Your sister is safe,” he said.
But the bastard near him shook his head. “Gray, you know I can tell when you lie to me.”
Dammit. This prick was one of the select few that knew him that well. Gray prided himself on having very minimal tells. “Okay, how about this…” He exhaled on a long, hard breath. “She’s in extreme danger, but she’s with a man who would commit murder in a heartbeat if it meant keeping her alive. So, is that better?”
A fierce glare and then, “Yeah, that is a bit better.”
Well, fan-damn-tastic.
“Now give me his name,” Agnes’s brother Ryan demanded, “and tell me exactly where to find him.”
“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. See, Agnes is undercover. And as far as where she is…I don’t exactly know.” He sorta knew. “She’ll come back home alive, though.”
Ryan moved to stand toe to toe with him. “If she doesn’t…” The former Marine turned assassin didn’t even blink as he said, “I will burn down the FBI around you.”
Gray smiled at him. “I love our talks, Ryan. They always make me feel so warm on the inside.”
“I want to see my sister.”
“Good luck with that.”
Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “Why did I see blood stains outside this room?”
“Um…” He scratched his chin. “Possibly because your sister killed a man.”
“Sonofabitch.”
“Indeed.” And if you think that’s bad, wait until Agnes discovers that the man she’s with is one of the Twin Cobras. Shit. Gray wasn’t really sure how she’d missed seeing Cass’s tattoo—not if the two of them really had been, uh, fucking all night long. But maybe her eyes had been on other places.
When she did find out the truth, though…
Oh, man, but Cass would be in for a world of trouble.
Agnes had never taken betrayal very well. And that is why she is going to be so pissed at me, too…
Chapter Twelve
She wasn’t alone.
Agnes knew this incredibly important fact even before her eyes opened. She felt the big, warm hand that was pressed to her stomach just as she became aware of the soft mattress beneath her body. A mattress—a bed? She was in bed with someone?
What. The. Hell?
Slowly, her eyes opened. Her head turned. Cassius. His head was on the pillow beside hers. His eyes were closed, and his dark lashes looked incredibly, impossibly long and thick. His dark hair was tousled, his muscled chest bare. She didn’t know if the rest of him was bare or not since Agnes could not quite remember how she’d wound up in bed with him. When she strained, the last thing she recalled was trying exceptionally hard not to topple off the back of his motorcycle as he thundered down an endless stretch of road.
His eyes opened. “It’s not polite to stare at someone while they’re sleeping.”
Fair enough. But he probably should have realized an important point about her before this moment. “I’m not particularly polite.”
His lips hitched into a faint smile. Damn if it wasn’t sexy.
Too much about him was sexy.
And…
Dangerous.
Her gaze slid over his chest. Lots of tattoos there. Swirls that she’d seen before during their wild, hot night together. What she could not see…that would be the tats on his back. Like the two-headed cobra.
Her heart drummed faster. “You know what else isn’t polite? Hauling a woman into your bed without her permission.”
He immediately sat up. The covers fell away. She looked down automatically because—again, not polite—and, dang it, she saw jeans. He was wearing his jeans.
She picked up the thick, black comforter and realized that she was still in her pants and shirt, too. Very wrinkled clothing. And she was probably very, very much in need of a shower.
Her growling stomach reminded her that she needed food, too. Stat, please.
And coffee. Coffee would be a blessing.
“I didn’t haul you in bed.” A low rumble from Cass. “For the record, you hauled me in here.”
She sat up, too. “I don’t recall that.” A prim response.
“You were practically falling off the bike, princess.”
That part she did recall.
“I even thought about tying you to me because you were scaring me so badly,” he admitted gruffly. “But we made it here. Then I did carry you inside.”
She wondered exactly where…here was. Her gaze darted around the bedroom. Gleaming, wooden walls. High-end furniture. Expensive curtains near the two windows that she spied. Not some no-tell motel this time. Fancy. Pricey.
“I carried you into the bedroom, but when I turned to leave,” Cass continued in that rough and sexy voice of his, “you grabbed my hand. You told me to stay. You proceeded to fall dead into bed, and I…I just slept next to you. That’s it. End of story.”
That was it. Check. No hot sexing that she didn’t recall, though, seriously, Agnes didn’t think that she could sleep through hot sex with Cass. “Where are we?”
“A safe house in Texas.”
“A safe house,” she repeated. Sure. Yes. “Because MCs have those.”
“Yeah, they do.” He climbed from the bed. “The MCs have all sorts of interesting things that Feds don’t know about.” The curtains over the window to the right were parted a bit, and light had drifted into the bedroom. That light allowed her to see the tattoos on his back.
The two-headed snake with its fangs bared.
She lunged for the nightstand. Her frantic fingers yanked open the top drawer because it was second nature for her to store her gun either on a nightstand—like she’d done at the Grove Motel—or in the top nightstand drawer. Since the gun wasn’t on top, she figured it must be in a drawer. Exhausted or not, she would have followed her routine. Because that routine was about staying alive. Whether she was at home, in a motel, or—
