Just the Messenger (6 page)

She managed to shake her head. “No. Just fuck me.”

The words coming from that bow-shaped mouth nearly pushed Marco over the edge right then and there. He felt Gene’s cock thrusting toward his through Grace’s body and imagined the rosy length of it pushing into his asshole, shocking his nerve-endings, nerve-endings that hadn’t been touched in many months. Since the operation had begun, Marco hadn’t had time for dating.

As if reading his mind, Gene stretched his arms across the dark-haired beauty between them and opened Marco’s cheeks, slicking a finger through him, teasing the soft fuzz of hair there. Grace raked a hand down his torso, stopping where their bodies met for just a moment before tracing their connected outline below his abdomen and fingering his sac gently, lovingly, wrenching a groan from his lips as the orbs tightened and raised at her touch.

He fisted his hand in her hair, pulling her face to his and drank of her, opening her, suckling her tongue before exploring the deepest recesses of her mouth. She writhed against him, craning her neck to allow him full access, and Gene slipped a finger into his hole, causing him to jolt with sudden pleasure. Marco broke from Grace’s mouth to place an appreciative bite on Gene’s tensed shoulder. He licked his way down the other man’s muscled arm to his free hand and slipped the thumb into his mouth, sucking on it in rhythmic washes of his tongue until he could feel the blond spy quaking behind Grace.

Their librarian surprised them both by coming in a flash of screams and moans, her entire body clenching, tightening around them. Marco heard Gene’s guttural pleasure as his eyes lost their focus, and he felt his own cum racing up his length from the depths of his balls, shooting out in long spurts, over and over again, until he was totally spent.

Sinking down into a pile of satisfied limbs, Marco suppressed a laugh as Grace looked up at the door in alarm.

“Won’t people…”

Gene hushed her. “Honey, you think I didn’t take care of that? Even if anyone heard us, which they didn’t since these walls are soundproof, they couldn’t get in.” He motioned at the door, and Marco looked up even though he already knew what was there.

A thin block of wood had been laced through the handles, making entry from the outside impossible.

Grace’s languid gaze hovered on Marco’s mouth, and she reached out to touch his lips, sending a shiver of remembrance down his spine. Behind her, Gene was already starting to straighten, searching out lost articles of clothing. Ever the businessman. Marco respected his attitude toward sex. He strove to emulate it. But looking at the gray-eyed lioness in front of him, he wondered if that would be possible this time. He was already fighting a strong urge to protect her, to claim her, to keep her safe…even from Gene. Her ambition battled with her naivety in a way that made her both adorable and dangerous. Marco stroked her slim arm, wondering if he could possibly make a go of it with her when this was all over. Wondering if Gene would let her go, if she would even want to leave Gene for him. He hardened his heart. A girl you fucked with another man in a sitting room after she tried to take your life wasn’t really the type to take home to mom. He’d have to keep that in mind.

“Get dressed, you two,” Gene called to them. “You’re wasting time.” He strode over to the corner and picked up the gun from the floor, tsking his disapproval and shaking his head at Grace. She ducked under her hair to avoid his gaze.

“Grace,” he continued.

Marco felt the girl start nervously in his arms.

“Pull yourself together. You’re leaving first. Take the town car. I’ve got a ride coming for me in ten minutes. Marco,” Gene turned to him, “You hail a cab to Grace’s apartment in thirty minutes. Tie up your shit with Bell, first. I’m sure you’ll have to convince him to leave before your bosses will let you get out of here. Good luck. I expect to see you tonight. We have to talk.”

Chapter Four

This time Gene didn’t knock before entering. He used his key. The look of surprise on Grace’s heart-shaped face gratified him. She covered it quickly, and he allowed himself to sweep his gaze over her figure. The blue dress had been replaced by tight, pink sweat pants and a light gray tank top. Her wavy hair was held up in a messy ponytail at the back of her head. She had scrubbed her face clean of the seductive makeup, but somehow she looked just as tempting, fresh-faced and bare. Gene forced his mind from memories of her appealing, soft curves under his hands, the juxtaposition of her feminine skin to Marco’s taut expressions running another surge of desire through his body.

Not now,
he chided himself.

He loosened his tie and was about to ask for a scotch when she reached her hand to the end table and presented him with a poured glass of the amber liquid.

He cocked his brow.

“Not bad,” he said.

“Thanks.”

He could tell she was pleased, though she tried to hide the smile that played around her lips.

“Now, if you could tell me what Marco drinks, I’d like to have his ready, too.”

“Red wine, please,” a baritone voice rumbled from the corner. “Cabernet if you’ve got it.”

Gene rolled his eyes as he watched Grace look up in shock.

“Nice trick, Agent Valencia. It’s a shame you can’t pull off your actual missions with such finesse.”

“You’re just jealous that you can’t slip into a room unnoticed. And upset that you left the door unlocked.” Marco’s eyes crinkled at the edges. “Our little lady must really be rattling you.”

The alcohol burned down Gene’s throat pleasantly as, in lieu of replying, he took a sip of his drink. Grace had retreated to the kitchen to fetch more booze, and Gene knew he had little time with Marco to get the plan straight.

“What’s going on with Bell?” he asked.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I don’t have time for games, Marco. These guys are closing in, and if they kill Warren, I don’t get my money. Plus, there’s a death on my hands. Plus, the cartel gets to continue operating in the city for who knows how long. We can struggle for power later, if you don’t mind.” Gene sighed and rubbed his hands over his eyes, feeling Marco’s questioning gaze on him. Gene was not usually so open, and he figured Marco expected a trap of some sort. In truth, his nerves were getting to him. Adding Grace to the equation had hurt him more than it had helped. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had a strong urge to keep that girl safe. And, having given her the job of messenger, that wasn’t going to be easy. He’d have to trust Marco. Which he did. What he didn’t trust was the IIB.

“He’s going to Colombia. And he was talking to Rinkleton about it.”

Gene groaned. “I thought as much. I was hoping it wasn’t true. I hope he’s right about Rinkleton. If the man can be bought by drug money, we’re all in for big trouble.”

“He can’t. He’s been working undercover with them for years now. He wouldn’t risk it.”

“His tenure with them is exactly the problem,” Gene warned. “When you work in a certain scene for too long, things that are not normal start to seem normal. It’s part of the disguise, sure, but you start to think and act like your subject.”

Marco shot him a sharp look. “Like you?”

Gene let the insult slide off his back and simply shrugged. “Yeah, like me.” He took a breath, trying to collect his thoughts. He’d left the IIB years ago, almost a decade now. Marco hadn’t even known him when he’d been involved in the organization. His reasons for leaving had nothing to do with money or mob dealings, but he had no need to clear his name. He didn’t owe Marco anything. “Anyway,” he continued, “Grace is going with you. I’ve already told her.”

“What?” Marco crossed the room to him and took him by the shoulders. “No.”

“She’s Venezuelan. She’ll be fine.”

“No. It’s dangerous there. We’re not going on vacation. We’ll be in the jungles and forests, trying to get information on the interceptions of drug trades and the capture of drug lords. She has no place there.”

“I have every place there.” The feminine voice drew both men’s gazes to the kitchen entry. Grace held a glass of cabernet in one hand and a glass of chardonnay in the other. She took a sip of the white wine. “I’m going,” she said, looking at Marco. “Now, you tell me what to do.”

Grace hoped her voice sounded braver than she felt. Looking at the two steamy men in her living area, her breath caught, as much with nerves at what they had in store for her as with desire. She didn’t know what was happening to her. She was too simple in taste to have fantasies of two men at once, and she was too naive to be a spy or a messenger or whatever she was. She was an out-of-work librarian, not a seductive, secret-keeping agent. She was out of her league. The men knew it, too. They looked at her for just a moment before continuing with their conversation as if she hadn’t spoken.

She padded over to Marco and willed her hand not to shake as she handed him his glass. He nodded in appreciation, but his eyes didn’t leave Gene’s face.

“How old are you, man?” he asked the photographer.

“Forty-one. Why?”

Marco blew out a breath. “So you were just a kid, then?”

Gene looked annoyed. “Yeah, just a kid. But even a kid knows when he’s being dicked over. And it’s not like I joined the mob, for Christ’s sake. I took a payout and moved to New York. And don’t think the collapse of their mafia business three years later had nothing to do with me. I did my part from behind the scenes, after I left the IIB.”

“Are you saying—”

Gene cut Marco off. “I’m not saying anything other than you should use your brain before spouting your mouth. But that’s something the Internal Intelligence Bureau doesn’t teach.”

The title dripped off his tongue like venom, and Grace shivered at his tone.

“Let’s talk about now,” Gene said, “and forget
my
past. It’s not relevant here.”

Grace forced herself to speak. If she didn’t get some answers, these men would leave her in the dark. And she’d be damned if she’d go to Colombia as a clueless messenger. She was done playing around.

“Exactly what is relevant, then?” she asked, her voice apparently startling the two men again. She laughed, her tone on edge. “Listen, you people involved me in this. You’re going to have to start expecting me to speak.”

They exchanged glances, Marco looking amused and Gene looking tired. Finally, the photographer cleared his throat.

“Okay, so let’s start from the beginning. But remember, I’m only telling you what you need to know.”

Grace snorted. “I’ll settle for anything more than nothing.”

“Remember the files you delivered to Rinkleton?”

Grace nodded. How could she forget?

“Rinkleton is a mole stationed in the Angel’s Drug Cartel that operates out of the city. He’s been there for years, quietly gaining trust and slowly trickling information back to us and to the IIB. We pay him handsomely for our info. Agents don’t like to work with us.” He jerked his head at Marco.

“Why not?” Grace asked.

“I have a history with the IIB that I’m not going to go into,” Gene replied. “And barring that, the organization thinks it walks on water and is the only operation that can bring in results.” He laughed out of the side of his mouth. “If you ever meet an FBI agent, ask him about the IIB and enjoy the grimace of disgust on his face.”

“Shut up, Gene,” Marco interjected. “There’s a reason we think we’re good.”

Gene nodded. “True, but you need help this time, and Marco, I’m trusting you as a friend on this one,
not
as an agent. You involve me in your little organization’s political games, and there will be consequences.”

Marco made a motion as if to shake in his boots, and Grace laughed.

“So are you guys friends, or what?”

“Yes,” they answered in unison.

She took a large gulp of wine, thinking about just how friendly they were, then her mind flitted to the danger she was taking on by working with them.

“And what about me?” she asked. “Are you going to kill me?”

“What? No!” Marco exclaimed. “We were just playing with you.”

“Well, don’t.” Grace’s voice was monotone. “I don’t want to be played with.”

Her face heated at the obvious double entendre, but the men let it slide.

“Our job at Hardy Photography is to help any organization willing to pay us find information they seek in the form of photographs and intel. Right now, we are to secure photos for CableNette that will help Warren Bell break the cartel story, and break it first. The pictures you saw were going to the hands of the cartel members to help convince them that Bell was just killed and not heading down there.”

“Why doesn’t he just break the story?”

“He’s a newsman. And a television newsman, at that. He can do liveshots, but he can’t go forward with any actual allegations until he’s got the evidence all lined up. What I mean is, he’s got to report the story, and the
IIB
has to go in and bust them within moments of the video. Right now, he’s just gathering information. That info has to get back to the IIB. And Bell couldn’t care less about them.”