Chasing grace a joint ta.., p.10
CHASING GRACE: A Joint Task Team Novel, page 10
“Are you getting your ass in this plane, or am I doing it for you?” Her green eyes flashed, and he dipped his head until his nose came within an inch of hers. “Because I’m more than happy to—”
Her lips on his silenced him mid-sentence, and he had to put his muscles on lockdown to keep from taking what he wanted. This was her kiss. Her chance to explore the combustible tension simmering between them.
Tentative at first, her tongue licked at his mouth, tasting and teasing, gauging his interest with every tiny flick. And fuck, yeah. He was interested. More than interested. He’d been waiting for her to kiss him all morning.
Hands finding his chest, she fisted his shirt, stepped closer, and lifted her chin. Her lips parted, and when their tongues met, he damn near caught fire. Everything about her fit him.
Her mouth and the way she opened to him, inviting him in. Her height and the way he didn’t have to do more than tilt his head down to reach her lips. Her body and the way she melted into him, his growing erection trapped between their hips.
God. She was perfect.
Pulling him closer, she moaned, the sound sliding like liquid honey down his throat, encouraging him to take the kiss deeper. No further guidance necessary, he locked his arm around her waist, tangled his free hand in her hair, and took the kiss from sweet and sexy to the next level.
Fuck. He wanted more. Needed more.
And he’d just made his intentions known.
Gray’s heart thumped hard enough against Chase’s chest to leave an impression as big as the one his cock made against her belly. One hand in her hair, he twisted her head to the side as he deepened their kiss. His other hand, he left on her lower back, holding her tight against his rigid length.
She couldn’t get free if she wanted to.
Not that she wanted to. She’d been craving his kiss all morning.
And holy shit. His lips.
Firm and demanding, he owned her mouth, his tongue making her hot enough to blister the pavement beneath their feet. It’d been a while since she’d been kissed like this. Okay, fine. She’d never been kissed like this.
He dominated, and she didn’t hate it. Not at all. It was a problem. And not because her panties were soaked. She had one rule when it came to men. No military fuckers. None. Zero. Zip. Nada. No exceptions. Enlisted or discharged. Active or former. Operational or in command. Didn’t matter. A military man was a military man for life, especially the elite.
And without a doubt, former marine or not, Chase Mackenzie was one of the elite.
He groaned. “We can’t do this, baby.” Contrary to his words, his grip tightened, and his lips stayed in place, his tongue sweeping over hers, a velvet stroke increasing her pleasure and taking his own.
His large hand slid south, and he palmed her butt cheek. Her head swam, and fireworks sounded, a loud bang, bang, bang in rapid succession.
“Fucking Christ!” Moving faster than she thought possible, Chase broke the kiss, scooped her up, shoved her ass-first into the plane, and followed in behind her.
“Hey!” She scrambled to the opposite side to avoid becoming his seat cushion as he slammed the door shut.
“Gunfire. Kincaid’s here.” In a series of rapid hand movements, he flipped switches and pulled knobs until the plane’s engine sparked to life with a mechanical roar. “Buckle up.”
“Kincaid?” Adrenaline spiking and hands shaking, she glanced around but did as ordered. She fumbled with straps and buckles as the little plane’s single propeller became a blur out of the corner of her eye.
By the time she spotted Rusty Eyes out front of the hangar, they were in motion. The rattling plane taxied down the short runway and lifted off the ground, leaving her stomach behind before she could process what the fuck was happening.
Her heartbeat drumming in her ears, she yelped and squeezed her eyes shut when the wing dipped, and the plane banked hard left. “Jesus,” Chase said, leveling them out again. “Sam Black is with him.”
“Sam Black?” The name not ringing any bells, Gray opened her eyes to nothing but blue sky. “How’d they find us?” She twisted in her seat to try to catch a glimpse of the men after her. From the angle of the plane, she saw nothing but trees.
Jaw clenched, Chase looked her over. “Where’s the cap?”
“The cap?”
“The Bruins hat. Where is it?”
“In my backpack.”
“Get it.”
She grabbed her bag from behind the seat and dropped it in her lap. “Here.” She pulled the cap free and handed it to him.
He opened his side window with a jab of his finger and tossed the hat into the wind.
“You think they were tracking us?”
“Fuck. I hope so, or we have bigger problems than I thought.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Staring down the business ends of Sam’s twin forties had Grant re-evaluating his career progression choices. Twenty-five yards apart, an empty metal hangar between them, they both had weapons trained on critical mass.
After Sam had texted him the photographer’s location, Grant had arrived at the airfield first. Keeping out of sight, he’d watched the woman balk at getting in the plane, and he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to commit assisted suicide by firing a couple of warning shots in the air.
Unfortunately, the happy couple had taken their sweet time trading spit, and Sam had shown himself first—guns drawn—and here they were. Targets acquired. Safeties off. Fingers on triggers.
Relief, however, not regret, eased his mind after the kiss-stealing fucknut shoved Grace Emerson ass-first into the plane. On hearing the gunfire, the man had moved fast, and the little Cessna was in the air and making for blue skies before Grant and Sam started trading any lead.
Bad guys killing bad guys was one thing. Torturing and killing people who wandered onto their turf by no fault of their own was another. Some lines Grant refused to cross. No matter how much money he needed. And serving up the photographer to Victor Bodak on a silver platter happened to be one of them.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let Bodak have her. Christ, he hated that sadistic asshole. The man got off on beating women, and by the time he finished with Grace, her own mother wouldn’t recognize her.
Grant’s scruples meant pissing Sam off, and even though he was acting like it, he wasn’t terminally stupid. Letting the woman go was the equivalent of signing his termination papers with his own blood.
With nothing to lose by going first, Grant got the party started. “Seems like what we have here is a good old-fashioned standoff.”
Sam smiled, his two pistols to Grant’s one probably giving him an edge. Especially if the one aimed at his head was at all accurate. “I trusted you, Kincaid.”
“Like fuck you did.”
“You tipped them off.”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
Grant shrugged a shoulder, and his ribs protested. “Like you said, she doesn’t know anything. You don’t need her.”
“That’s not for you to decide.”
“Looks like today it is.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Same choice. Does this mean you’re gonna shoot me in the face now?”
To his surprise, Sam’s smile broadened, even though the guns stayed level. “Nah, you’re too pretty, Kincaid.”
“So, we’re not going to be dodging bullets here?”
“Probably not.”
“On the count of three?”
“Sure.”
On Grant’s one count, they both dropped their weapons, and relieved dying wasn’t on his list of shit-to-do-today, he joined his boss in the middle of the open hangar doors. Following Sam’s line of sight, he lifted his gaze to the shrinking plane. A black speck floated to the ground. “You have a tracker in my ball cap?”
Sam’s gaze landed back on him. “Fuck no. Who puts a tracker in a ball cap?”
“Assholes with trust issues.”
Sam snorted and holstered his guns. “You trying to tell me you’re someone I can trust?”
Grant’s brows shot to his hairline, and his stitches damn near ripped open. “That depends.” A killer with a conscience, Sam Black didn’t go around snorting or offing people who weren’t neck deep in the business of being a bad guy. So this shit wasn’t adding up and hadn’t been for a while. “Let me get this straight. You sent me here to scoop the girl.”
“Yes.”
“But what you really wanted was for me to let her go.”
“Correct.”
Grant shook his head. “Are you gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?”
“She’s my sister.”
Unprepared for the bomb dropped, Grant’s mouth hung open until he filled it with the first thing to enter his head. “What the fuck?” Convinced he’d heard wrong, he tried again, using more words for greater clarity. “Grace Emerson is your sister?”
“Yep.”
“The photographer?” He pointed his gun in the direction the plane had gone. “The one you aimed a sniper rifle at is your sister?”
“Yep.”
“And you pulled the fucking trigger?”
Sam grinned. “Trust me. Shooting at Gray is the only way to jump-start her self-preservation instincts.”
“Uh, in case you hadn’t noticed, after you shot at her, she threw herself off a fucking cliff.”
“Yep.”
“And torpedoed a car into a ravine.”
“Yep.”
“Am I missing the self-preservation piece?”
“Nope. But she is. That’s why I need your help.” Sam hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “You hungry? There’s a fantastic diner about twenty minutes up the road.”
In the back booth of a retro diner on the outskirts of Seattle, Sam finished off his seafood stew while Grant Kincaid eyeballed him like he’d lost his mind. “So, will you do it?” Victor Bodak wanted Grace Emerson—bad. To keep the fucker from taking matters into his own hands, Sam needed him to think they were hot on the heels of the missing photographer.
“You keep a trace on your sister?” Kincaid indicated the folded square of paper on the table between them with a wave of his mug.
“Tracker in her watch.” Done with his meal, he set his spoon on his plate, tossed his crumpled napkin in the bowl, and pushed the whole thing aside. “She has a tendency to fall off the map.”
“No shit.” Kincaid shook his head and set his coffee down. “You pointed a gun at my head.”
“What are we, twelve? I’m asking you to protect my sister. I had to know where you stood. Will you do it?” Well aware of Gray’s willingness to throw herself in front of speeding trains, he needed to make sure she stayed with the people who could keep her safe from Bodak and his dick lickers.
That’s where Kincaid came into play. He adhered to a code of ethics not found among many guns for hire, and his willingness to disregard Sam’s orders at the risk of his own life had proven two things.
He put others before himself.
And he had balls bigger than the average wannabe hero.
Sam had no proof, and Kincaid hadn’t done anything to give himself away, but the man had to be former military. His instincts, how he conducted himself, the way he moved, all of it combined hinted at years of training and experience acquired for the sole purpose of defending life, liberty, and country.
Kind recognized kind, and sure as shit, Grant Kincaid belonged to a specific subset of the human race. The subset that ran toward danger, while the rest of the world ran away. Why he’d thrown in with Sam and Victor Bodak, he’d figure out later. For now, keeping his sister safe and out of Bodak’s hands was the only thing that mattered.
A loose cannon with a faulty fuse, Gray had the potential to destroy several years of work. Until he figured out how she factored into the events going down, he needed to keep her contained—no matter the cost. “Look. I’m willing to double your salary and throw in an extra fifty thousand as a bonus once my sister’s out of danger. Does that work?”
“Bodak footing the bill?”
“Hundred percent.”
“Jesus.” Kincaid shook his head, wiped a hand over his stitches, and muttered something about being terminally stupid. When he finished, he looked Sam dead in the eye and grinned. “Yeah, I’ll do it, just to fuck with Bodak. But I want a new Bruins cap too. Same as the last one.”
“Deal.” Sam pushed the paper toward Kincaid before he could reconsider the potential consequences of messing with Bodak’s plan for Gray. “Punch that code into the phone I gave you, and put in the password. Gray’s signal will come up. Don’t let her know you’re on her six, and don’t let her out of your sight.”
Kincaid reached over and opened the slip of paper. “Your sister’s password is GroundZero?”
Sam shrugged and threw enough cash on the table to cover the bill and leave a sizeable tip. “She has that effect.”
“Do I need to swallow this, or will it self-destruct?”
“Fuck off, Kincaid.” Trust established, or at least a semblance of trust established, he stood and grabbed the Denali’s key fob, leaving his own on the table. “Take my car. It’s faster.” He nodded once and made for the door.
“Hey, Sam.”
He turned and waited for the question he knew was coming—because he’d ask the same if their roles were reversed.
“You don’t really work for Bodak, do you?”
“Do you?” Sam asked in return.
Kincaid frowned and shook his head. “Nah, man. I work for you.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
At a roadside motel in the middle of Utah, Chase tossed three twenties on the counter and signed a fake name on the registration form. Forced to ditch the plane in Boise because Bodak’s men had seen the registration number, they’d driven five hundred miles in the last eight hours.
Despite his back’s opinion on the matter, Chase would have preferred to keep going. Unfortunately, with a fifteen-hour drive still ahead of them, even he had to admit they needed a break. More than a break. He needed a hot shower, a couple of muscle relaxants, and a week’s worth of sleep.
He wouldn’t get any of those things.
Not tonight.
Tomorrow either.
Until he had Gray under the protection of the JTT, he’d be on high alert.
“Do you have any sharp scissors I can borrow?” Gray leaned over the chipped Formica and looked around.
Behind the counter, the hotel clerk blinked at her in slow motion. By the size of his pupils, Chase didn’t need to see the stoner’s empty bag of weed to know he was lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Scissors?” the clerk repeated.
“Yeah, right there.” She twirled her finger. “Can you hand me those?”
He handed her the scissors, pointy end first. “Careful, man. They’re really sharp.”
“Thanks. I’ll try not to run them into anyone.” She looked at Chase as if the idea held merit.
Yep, still angry.
She’d asked for her phone back. He’d refused, citing safety and security reasons. True for the most part. Also true, he had it in pieces, and he doubted she had the tech skills required for reassembly. Probably best to keep that bit of nitty-gritty to himself while she possessed a sharp implement.
The stoner grinned and bobbed his head like a pecking chicken. “Good thinking.”
Jamming the scissors into the back pocket of her khakis, she rolled her eyes and made for the grime-covered glass door. Chase snatched the room key from the counter and trailed her outside.
Faded black numbers below an equally faded arrow indicated their direction under the flickering light of a neon vacancy sign. He took Gray’s hand and led the way, tightening his grip when she tried to let go.
When they reached their room, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside to let her enter first. One foot across the threshold, she hesitated on the threadbare rug and surveyed the night’s digs with a scrunched nose.
The air did have a distinct eau-de-dirty-deeds-done-dirt-cheap, but they needed to stay off the radar, and this place preferred its customers to pay in cash, probably by the hour. Hand against the small of her back, he nudged her inside, dropped his pack, and locked the door behind him.
After a last look outside, he shut the curtains and claimed the double bed closest to the exit and bathroom doors by throwing his body on it. He’d be dozing on top of the covers, fully dressed, his gun within reach for a variety of reasons tonight.
Hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and listened to Gray move about the room. Tension kept his stomach coiled and his muscles flexed. Fuck, he was pissed. At Bodak, at Kincaid, but mostly at himself.
A tracker in a ball cap? Who does that? If Kincaid hadn’t shown up at the airfield in Everett, guns ablazing, Chase would have brought Bodak and his men right to the JTT’s front door.
And if it wasn’t a tracker, they were fucked.
The only people who knew he had a plane in Everett were the members of the JTT. Jesus, he didn’t want to believe they might be harboring a traitor among them. It hardly seemed possible, but just to be sure, he’d reached out to Tak. If there was a leak, he’d find it and deal with it before Chase arrived with Gray.
Either way, if he didn’t pull his head out of his ass soon, he’d get them all killed.
Yeah, Gray affected him, and not in a good way. He’d lost his focus today and put her at risk. He’d put his team and their mission at risk too. Unacceptable. They’d worked too hard to uncover the little they had on Wright, and they were running out of time.
Distracted by his attraction to Gray, he’d made some significant mistakes in the last twenty-four hours. Kissing her when he should have been watching their backs. What the fuck? He had no right to kiss her. Shouldn’t be kissing her at all.
A shadow passed over his closed lids, and the click of a switch preceded the electric hum of a tired light fixture. He expected the bathroom door to close and the shower to turn on. When neither of those things transpired, he remembered the scissors.
