Midnight Alias: A Killer Instincts Novel (22 page)

Biting her lip to stop herself from shouting her release out to the world—and her mother—she arched her back and shuddered as the climax sizzled through her like wildfire.

When she finally crashed back to earth, Luke’s dark eyes were focused on her face. “Did you really just come?” he demanded, his voice a cross between a growl and a groan.

She let out a ragged breath. “Uh-huh.”

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He ground his pelvis into her. “Do it again.”

A laugh flew out of her mouth. “How about you take off your pants and we’ll see what happens.”

His hands shot down to his waistband, deft fingers unbuttoning it, pushing down his zipper and—a cell phone rang.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” The sheer distress in his voice made her laugh again.

She was about to suggest that he ignore it, but he was already off the bed and yanking the phone out of the breast pocket of his discarded long-sleeve. He cursed as he lifted the phone to his ear. “Yeah?” Another curse. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

As a wave of disappointment crested inside her, Olivia propped herself up on both elbows. “You have to go?”

“Trev needs me on recon.” His gorgeous features remained taut with passion. “Damn it.”

Although his reluctance to leave made her heart skip, the practical part of her kicked into gear, intensifying when Luke’s gaze fixed on her bare breasts. Her nipples were practically saluting him, puckering even more when he swept his tongue over his bottom lip.

God, what was she doing? Ground rules aside, this was still a really bad idea. She wasn’t a fling girl. She didn’t do casual. And Luke Dubois was casual to the bone.

That phone ringing . . . hell, it was probably a blessing in disguise.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said softly.

She blinked. “What?”

“Don’t second-guess it.” He flopped down on the edge of the bed. “This isn’t over. Just postponed.”

“Unless the interruption was a sign that we shouldn’t do this,” she countered. “A sign that we should end this before it even starts.”

He laughed, slow and sexy. “Darlin’, the only way this is ending is with me buried inside you.”

Well, damned if that didn’t nearly make her climax again.

With a lopsided grin, he bent down and brushed his lips over hers. As their mouths met, he grazed her breast with a lazy finger, tweaked her nipple, and just like that, any notion of practicality flew out the window.

* * *

When Luke’s boots landed on the pavement beneath the fire escape, Sullivan was waiting for him by the ladder. Decked out in all black, Sully leaned against the brick wall and scanned Luke’s disheveled appearance with dancing silver gray eyes.

“Surveillance ain’t so boring anymore, is it, mate?”

He tried to conjure up a decent comeback and failed. He couldn’t deny it, either. His hair was a tousled mess from Olivia’s fingers running through it, and his cock was like a slab of marble, which had made his descent down the fire escape pretty damn painful.

“I’m here to relieve you,” Sullivan added when Luke didn’t take the bait. His gaze dropped to Luke’s crotch. “Not that kind of relief, though.”

“Gee, not even a hand job? I thought we were friends.”

“You’re not my type.”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure that
everyone
is your type—as long as they get you off.”

The Australian just grinned. No denials on his part either. Sullivan was the consummate ladies’ man, but it was no secret he’d done dudes too. It didn’t make a lick of a difference to Luke. The guy could screw whomever he wanted, as long as it didn’t affect the mission. Jim Morgan demanded only two things of the team—show up and back each other up. And Sullivan
always
had Luke’s back.

“Anyway, team leader’s waiting,” Sullivan said. “I’m covering Olivia while you mates scope out the address she got us. Depending on what you find there, we might need to bring in the contractors. Morgan’s got them on call.”

Luke raised his eyebrows. Morgan had eight permanents on the team—well, nine now, with Abby coming on board—but he had a dozen other soldiers on call, men they turned to when missions required more bodies. Every last contractor was a solid asset to the team, but Luke didn’t know any of them all that well, which made him uneasy. He really fucking hated having strangers watch his back, even with Morgan vouching for them.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” he said, smoothing his hair down. “Where you setting up?”

“Building across the street. Don’t worry, mate, anyone comes near your girl, I’m on it.”

“She’s not my girl.” He fixed Sully with a hard look. “That said, any harm comes to her, and I’ll put a bullet in your knee.”

“My knee? That’s kind of a random place.”

“Would you prefer I put one between your eyes?”

“Yes.” Sullivan scowled. “You blow my knee out, how will I play rugby?”

Luke snickered. “Right. I forgot about your thriving rugby career.” He clapped Sully on the shoulder. “Make sure she stays safe. I’m heading out.”

He made a move toward the SUV parked in one of the visitor spaces, but Sullivan’s voice stopped him.

“Milk.”

He turned around with a frown. “What the hell are you talking about?’

“It’ll help with the blue balls.” Sullivan grinned. “Not that I get rebuffed often, but when it happens, drinking milk eases the ache. So does jerking off, but since we’re sharing a room I’d rather you chug some milk.”

“Thanks for the tip.” Rolling his eyes, Luke got into the Range Rover and started the engine. A glance in the rearview mirror showed Sullivan darting around the side of the building, nylon backpack hanging off his shoulder.

As he navigated the deserted streets of the East Village, his thoughts drifted to Olivia, and he suddenly had to ask himself what the hell he was doing. He was always up for casual sex with a gorgeous woman, but he’d never screwed around on the job before. Being a former SEAL, he knew how to separate business from pleasure. Stay focused, get the job done, and do the pleasure thing during shore leave. Women were a distraction, and distractions could be deadly when your ass was on the line. His military career might be over, but the same philosophy applied to mercenary work—mission first, fun later.

This attraction to Olivia Taylor was getting out of control, and he was starting to suspect it went beyond a simple case of lust. She was smart, funny, and far sweeter than any of the women he’d hooked up with in the past. Strong as hell too, which was a huge turn-on. Not many women would have the guts to gather intel on a drug-dealing mobster, and Olivia’s staunch determination to investigate those back rooms still floored him. She might not consider herself strong, but she had nerves of steel. And he wanted to get to know her better. He wanted to hear about her childhood, and her college classes, and her fucking hopes and dreams. How messed up was that?

Not that he was a commitment-phobe or anything. He was happy indulging in no-strings affairs and one-night stands, but he planned on settling down eventually, if he found the right woman to do it with. He’d just figured the right woman would be someone more like him—adventurous, bold, easygoing. Olivia was too cautious, too serious for him. And he could sense that she longed for security, normalcy.

Well, she wasn’t gonna find that with him. He was too reckless for his own good. He lived on a private military compound with a bunch of soldiers, an ex-Mafia housekeeper named Lloyd, and a slobbering mutt. Oh, and one of his best friends was engaged to an assassin. Could anyone really call that
normal
?

Smothering a sigh, he pulled into the underground garage of the safe house. When he neared the reserved parking space, he spotted Trevor leaning against one of the concrete columns, a duffel bag by his feet and an impatient expression on his face. The second SUV wasn’t in its spot; D and Holden must have already left for the address Olivia had given them.

Luke let the car idle, waiting for Trevor to toss the duffel in the back and slide into the passenger seat. While the other man buckled up, Luke punched the address into the nav system.

“All good with Olivia?” Trevor asked as they drove off.

“Yeah. She’s safe and sound at her place. Nobody gave her any trouble at the club after her shift ended.”

“Good.”

Stopping at a red light, Luke opened the compartment in the armrest and grabbed his smokes. He shook out a cigarette, lit up, and rolled down the window. “So what happens if we case the place and confirm Dane is there? Do we extract him tonight?”

“No. Tonight we assess, see what kind of perimeter they’ve set up, how many guards are posted, that kind of shit.”

Luke took a deep drag. “More watching, then. Yay.”

“I spoke to Morgan. He said Abby’s gonna try to make our job easier. She’s still got contacts in the CIA, so she’s calling in a favor to see if they can get us satellite images of the place, maybe use thermal imaging to get a sense of how many bodies we can expect to find inside.”

“I can’t imagine De Luca putting a full crew on this,” Luke commented as he exhaled a cloud of smoke out the window. “This is an industrial area. He won’t want to draw too much attention.”

The prediction proved to be correct—when they neared the area in question, they found it utterly deserted. Killing the headlights, Luke drove along the gravel road, scanning the derelict buildings and nondescript warehouses. Most of the buildings dealt with commercial goods, and tall chain-link fences closed off several of the lots. The warehouse they were looking for stood at the very end of the strip, featuring a weathered sign that labeled the place as a carpet depot. It was a large square structure, two stories high with no windows, steel doors, and a loading dock. A few abandoned forklifts littered the pavement, but the unmarked white van parked by the recessed bay hinted that the place wasn’t totally abandoned.

Luke drove right past the warehouse and turned left at the end of the road. He slowed in front of a crumbling brick building, but the glimmers of candlelight slicing out of various boarded-up windows told him there were squatters inside. He kept driving, eventually coming to a stop on a gravel lot behind a furniture warehouse.

He and Trevor got out of the car, quickly gathering up their gear. Guns slid into waistbands and shoulder holsters, earpieces went in, rifles were locked and loaded. Trevor reached for his earpiece and said, “We’re here. You guys set up?”

D’s voice crackled in Luke’s ear. “I’m covering the back.”

“I’ve got the west entrance,” Holden said.

“Eyes and ears open, boys.” Trevor turned to Luke. “Get positioned by the east entrance. I’ll take the front and the loading dock.”

They went their separate ways, each one disappearing into the shadows. Reaching into his back pocket, Luke pulled out a black wool cap and shoved it on his head, then put on a pair of leather gloves. There was a chill in the air, and his breath left puffs of white as he wove through the various lots toward the warehouse. He hopped a fence, his boots making no sound as they landed on the gravel. To the east of the warehouse stood a vacant mechanic shop that had seen better days. It was a sprawling one-story building with the doors chained up, but the rusted metal roof would provide good cover. Securing his rifle over his shoulder, he approached the side of the garage and found a half-gutted gray van on the pavement. He glanced at the van, then up at the flat roof, fifteen feet up. The exterior cinder-block walls rose about a foot above the roof, parapet style.

Rubbing his hands together, Luke vaulted onto the roof of the van. There was a creak of metal. He froze. Waited. Nobody came storming out of the next building. Good to go. He secured his footing, then rose to his full height on top of the van, which brought him to nearly eye level with the roof. Quick as lightning, he leapt from the van to the wall. As his hands connected with the edge, he hoisted himself up and crawled on his belly toward the other side of the roof.

When he was in position, he murmured, “East entrance covered.”

And then he fixed his gaze on the neighboring warehouse and prepared for the long night ahead.

* * *

They reconvened at the apartment at nine the next morning, all except Holden, who’d stayed behind to monitor the warehouse. After spending the entire night casing the place, Luke was convinced they were onto something. There were only six guards patrolling the property, but they’d been armed to the teeth—AKs, M16s, M4s. Heavy-duty shit. They had to be protecting something damn important, but Morgan’s intel said De Luca didn’t use the facility for his drug operation, so that meant a different kind of merchandise was being held there. A missing DEA agent perhaps . . .

Problem was, they still had no idea what to expect if they raided the place. Only six men were posted on the exterior, but who knew how many guards they’d find inside the warehouse.

Fortunately, that question was answered once Trevor got Morgan on speakerphone. Luke, Trevor, and D settled on the couches for the briefing, and Holden and Sullivan were conferenced in while each continued to man his respective post.

“Abby got us the intel,” Morgan announced. “She’s on the line.”

“Hey, boys.” Abby’s voice slid out of the speaker.

“How you doing, Sinclair?” Luke drawled. “I hear you’ve been teaching my dog some new tricks.”

“I have.” She gave a dry laugh. “Bear can now rip someone’s throat out on command, and we’ve been working on sniffing out explosives. I set C4 around the compound but your mutt’s detection skills suck. You should’ve started training him a long time ago.”

He shook his head, even though Abby couldn’t see him. “You are the most terrifying person I’ve ever met,” he informed her. “And I swear to God, if one of your bombs blows up my dog, I’ll kill you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

And they both knew that wasn’t gonna happen. He had no desire to mess with a former assassin, not even one as hot as Abby.

Trevor leaned forward. “Did you get in touch with your CIA guy?”

“Sure did,” she answered. “I just e-mailed you some satellite images. According to my source, you’re looking at eight guards. Looks like they patrol the building in teams of three, with five on the inside. Of the five, two watch the front door, two guard the back, and one’s posted on the second story. My guy said there might be someone else, a static target near the second-floor guard. Heat signature’s fucked up, but it could be a ninth body.”