Midnight Secrets (26 page)

“You’d always have a job here,” Senior said in his gravelly voice.

“Thanks. Though it would entail working with these bozos here. But they’re still better than most of the Bureau pukes I have to deal with.” He turned to the computer monitor. “So. Ex-CIA puke, do you have any evidence that would stand up in court? Because Blake would lawyer up fast with the best mouthpiece money can buy. They’d line up to defend him in a high-profile trial. Did you follow the laws of discovery in tracking down Blake?”

“
No.
I
know he’s guilty but cannot prove it in a court of law.
”

“There you have it,” Isabel said. “So when do I call? When do we start this?”

“Tomorrow,” Joe said.

“Right now,” Isabel said and picked up the phone and scrolled through her contacts again.

“It’s 8:00 p.m.,” Joe protested.

“That makes it only 11:00 p.m. in Washington. Hector is a night owl.”

Before Joe could stop her, she’d pressed the number, on speed dial. Everyone could hear the phone ringing, hear when someone picked up.

And Isabel’s body language changed instantly.

She’d been standing ramrod straight, eyes flashing, face tight. The instant Blake picked up, she seemed to lose a couple of inches in height. She slumped, her face grew soft and sad. Her hand trembled. Her voice trembled.

“Uncle Hector?” she sounded apprehensive, frightened. “It’s Isabel.” She sighed. “No, I’m still in Portland. You knew I moved over here, right? Yeah.” She listened. “Not too great, Uncle Hector, to tell you the truth. I can’t seem to move on. And I’m having...” She made an audible swallow. “I’m having nightmares, Uncle Hector. Terrible nightmares. Sleeping pills don’t help, alcohol doesn’t help, nothing helps. I keep having this same nightmare over and over and somehow
you’re
in them. Always. It’s so...so
horrible.
”

She started breathing heavily. Tears were in her voice. Joe had to check to make sure she wasn’t really crying. Her cheeks were bone-dry, but you’d swear she was crying. “I don’t know what to do, who to turn to.” A long sigh. Her face radiated sadness. She perked up. “Oh God
really
? You can? When? Tomorrow? Oh, thank you Uncle Hector, you have no idea what that means to me. I’ll text you my address. Thank you.” Her voice throbbed with gratitude. “I’m looking forward to it. Bye.”

She pressed End and straightened up, the lost look gone, voice strong, staring into the phone screen as if she was seeing him. “I’m looking forward to tearing your heart out and eating it, you scum-sucking son of a bitch.” She looked up. “We’re taking that fucker
down.
”

The new Isabel rode back with him in his SUV. It was icy, so Joe had to pay a little attention to the driving, but most of him was focused on her. On the Isabel who wanted to eat Hector Blake’s heart.

Of course, Joe was down with that. Blake
was
an evil, scum-sucking douche bag, but Joe was used to being the one who planned revenge. It was all he’d done as a soldier. He’d joined as an eighteen-year-old right after 9/11, just like Metal. He hadn’t lost his immediate family, like Metal had, but his country had been attacked and his country was his family.

So through all the harsh training that led to his acing BUD/S and surviving Hell Week and all the years of ops, he’d had one thought—revenge. He was going to get back at the fuckers who’d fucked with his country.

This was the very first time that he was contemplating revenge on a man, or men—because Blake couldn’t do what he’d done without a team behind him—who were fellow citizens.

And he wasn’t even the one who was going to exact revenge. Isabel was. He was merely backup. The muscle. It freaked him out every time he thought about it.

“Stop worrying so hard,” Isabel said with a sidelong glance at him. “I can actually hear the worry vibes. It’s distracting.”

“Sorry. They come naturally.”

“You’re a navy SEAL. You guys aren’t supposed to worry or feel anxious.”

True. He’d never felt anxious when going out on an op. He and his team were as well trained and equipped as it was possible to be. They went out, got the job done and came back. Alive.

“I’m just backup this time. You’ll be on the front lines. If that isn’t crazy making, I don’t know what is.”

“I’ll have you guys with me. All of you are former navy SEALs, even Nick. Felicity on the computer. What can go wrong?”

Joe’s sweaty hands tightened on the steering wheel. “God. Don’t say that! That’s like the pretty young chick who goes down into the cellar alone in her baby doll nightgown when there’s a serial killer on the loose. That’s just inviting trouble.”

“You think too much,” she said. “Don’t think and drive.”

Joe shot her a glance then back to the road. Or rather, took his eyes off her enough to glance at the road. Because Isabel was an eye magnet. So beautiful it hurt and right now she was crackling with energy. What drove her was the thought of whacking a man, or at least putting him behind bars for the rest of her life, but what she made Joe think of was sex. Hot, sweaty sex. She looked almost aroused. High color, eyes gleaming, lips full and pouty with a pillowy look. Thank God she was wearing a down coat and he couldn’t see her breasts because he’d take odds that her nipples were hard.

Or maybe that was wishful thinking because under his coat he was hard as a rock.

Can it
, he told himself. No sex tonight. He would hold her and comfort her and give her courage. She also needed to sleep. She’d said she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the Massacre. Tomorrow Isabel was going to face a mass murderer. She was going to walk a dangerous tightrope and needed to be firing on all cylinders.

So sex was out tonight.

He clenched the steering wheel harder with wet palms because just thinking sex in the same context as Isabel made his dick kick in his pants. It was going to be hell holding Isabel all night with a massive woodie but he was a SEAL and SEALs were the ones who did the hard things.

His face twitched. Hard was not a word that should be in his head at this moment.

Was Isabel thinking about sex? Who knew what was in
her
head?

Joe swerved and parked his vehicle. Usually Isabel waited until he got out, rounded the vehicle and opened her door. It was still icy slick and she was often unsteady on her feet. Now, though, she was already halfway to her door by the time he got out. She punched in the code, had it read her thumbprint then just as the heavy steel door they’d put in snicked open she looked over her shoulder at him and the hair rose on the back of his neck.

The look she gave him was trouble. Pure sex, pure trouble. He leaped up the three steps in one bound, pushed the door open above her shoulder and ushered her in. He could hear his blood pulsing in his ears.

Isabel shoved him against the door, stepping forward until she was pressed against him. “Now,” she said in a low voice that sent shivers up his spine.

Now.

Oh God, yes.

Joe was holding her tightly, lost in her kiss, aware that his arms were full of...down coat. Her mouth was soft, warm, tongue licking his lips.

He lifted his mouth for a second. “Off.”

Smart girl, she understood. Good thing, because he wasn’t capable of full sentences. Gloves off, hands undoing the buttons of her coat, then unzipping his. Outer layers off. Now he could feel her shape, the long line of her back, the small waist, the rounded hips. He cupped her ass, lifting her up against his hard-on and she breathed out heavily and bit his lip.

An electric shock ran through him and now it wasn’t just his dick that was hard. He was hard all over, as if his skin was too small to contain him. Muscles tense, solid as rock.

“Clothes,” Isabel said when he lifted his mouth from her to get a better slant. “Now.”

“God yeah,” Joe muttered.

It became a contest to see who could get naked first. He could hardly tell whose hands were doing what because all the blood in his head had gone straight to his dick.

His shirt, her sweater. Pants, jeans.

Something ripped. He didn’t give a fuck because suddenly his hands were full of warm soft smooth woman, naked breasts pressed against his chest, soft belly against his. He smoothed his hand over her backside, pressed her against him. The lips of her sex opened over him and he rubbed himself against her, up and down, feeling her warm and wet.

It was insanely pleasurable but it wasn’t enough.

Joe picked her up, turned her around and placed her against the closed door, hoping he wasn’t slamming her because a drumbeat of urgency was throbbing inside him and he couldn’t think much beyond that.

He hitched her up. “Put your legs around my waist,” he muttered against her mouth and she did, instantly, and there she was, open to him.

Slowly
, he told himself and he tried, he really did. He clenched the cheeks of his ass and moved into her as gently as he could and oh God, she was like wet silk.

“Move,” she ordered.

Everything about Isabel was open to him, welcoming him. Her mouth, her arms, her legs, her sex. She was signaling with her entire body that she wanted him. Joe found her mouth with his and pushed forward, as slowly as he could, until he was firmly embedded inside her. He went slowly because he didn’t want to hurt her but also because there was red-hot pleasure so intense he wanted to savor every second, every inch. They were holding each other tightly, kissing deeply, there was nothing anywhere but Isabel.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he said.

“Good.” She licked his ear. “Now move.”

It was like a storm, hot and wild. Joe slammed into her over and over again, not asking if he was hurting her because she was with him every step of the way. Her arms and legs were tightly wound around him, holding him, meeting him. Her head was thudding against the wall so he cupped her head and her kisses deepened.

She went first, with a wild cry in his mouth, clenching hard around him. She threw her head back, white throat exposed and he kissed her there, his tongue feeling the beating of her heart in her neck. He could feel the beating of her heart in her sex, too, throbbing and clenching.

He was covered in sweat and thrusting into her in hard little stabs because he couldn’t bear the thought of pulling back too far because that meant leaving her heat. So he set his legs and pressed into her, circling her, stabbing hard and his heart stopped and the top of his head came off and he spilled into her, hard spurts that made him shake.

When he was finally done, he put his palms against the wall near her head to hold himself upright. Isabel slowly lowered her legs to the ground and he slipped out of her.

They were panting, both of them.

Isabel’s legs were shaking and her knees gave. She slid to the floor and he slid with her, rolling until it was his back against the cold floor and Isabel was lying on top of him, eyes closed, mouth upturned in a mysterious smile.

Joe lifted his head to watch her then let it fall back with a thud. He was completely wiped out.

“Forget killing Blake,” he said when he got his breathing under control. “You’re going to kill
me
.”

She laughed.

Washington
,
DC

She knew.
The bitch knew, somehow. She had to go. It was time.

Blake had thought of this over and over again. Leaving Isabel alive was a security risk. But she’d been so broken he’d let it ride and all things considered, she’d had a good run. He’d let her live six months. Her memory was returning, and he knew exactly what she was remembering. Isabel alive was now an unacceptable risk, but it was good that it had taken time.

No one was going to connect the suicide of a troubled young woman with the events of months ago.

And soon Blake was going to be busy with phase two, and he wouldn’t have time to deal with her if she all of a sudden woke up and remembered halfway through a presidential campaign. So, it was time.

He arranged a rock-solid alibi then called his personal pilot. The pilot would fly him under an assumed name, flying a plane that was registered under a company it would take forensic economists months to trace back to Blake.

And why should they?

Hector Blake in Washington would have nothing to do with the suicide of a young woman across the country.

He could actually deal with this himself, with the help of his pilot and Kearns, his man on the ground.

He called Kearns. “Our little dove is going to fly away.” Their code for it’s time to get rid of the little bitch.

There was just enough of a silence to annoy Blake. Had the moron already forgotten their code?

“Ah. Okay. In Washington?”

Blake closed his eyes. Kearns would be the next to go. He wasn’t smart enough to take part in phase two, let alone phases three and four. “No, where her nest is.”

Portland.

“
Nest
nest?”

Meaning—in her home?

“Any objections?” Blake asked coldly.

“Well...she, um, seems to have made friends with a—a lot of people on her street. Maybe they’d report right away if something—something happens to her. Or someone might...interfere. I think we should, um, isolate her.”