Troublemaker (36 page)

Pragmatically she said, “We can't get married yet anyway. We have to get the license here in this county, where we live. Even though the courthouse isn't in Hamrickville, too many people know me. The people we'll tell will keep it quiet, but the average person in the county courthouse won't know they shouldn't Google your real name, and trust me, at least one of them would.”

He said something very graphic and pithy, not at all happy to see his plans put on hold.

She gave him an amused glance. “In a hurry to get me into bed?”

“You bet. I've never had married sex before. I wonder if it's different.”

She laughed, and he used his grip on her hand to tug her closer and drape his arm around her shoulders. “Okay. I'm not happy about waiting, but I don't see any way around it. I'll be busy the next few days anyway: get a bank account set up in the Caymans. Bring the guys up to speed. Ammo to buy, security to set up, things like that.”

She digested all of that and asked only one question. “The Caymans?”

“A blackmail attempt won't look legitimate unless I'm asking for serious money, which brings up the problem of how I'd report that to the IRS. They'll expect me to know about things like that, which I do; I can't have them wire the money into a regular stateside bank. The blackmail has to look real from every angle, so I have to have an offshore account for the money to be paid into.”

“How will you avoid getting into trouble over it?”

“Everything I do will be coordinated with Axel and documented. Yes, there are gray areas, but what matters is stopping them. I'm assum
ing their guilt until I'm proven wrong.” He paused. “I don't expect they'll ever appear in a court of law. This will be handled on the down low.”

“Meaning . . . what?”

“Meaning they may negotiate their way out of trouble by double-crossing the Russians, though they may not be in any position to do that. The flow of information may be all one way, in which case their asses are in a sling. However it ends, that's not my problem. My job is to stop them.”

“
Our
job,” she corrected quietly. “We're in this together.” She gave him a crooked smile. “That's what being married means.”

They weren't quite a mile from home; they strolled, they threw the ball for Tricks whenever they were in a clear patch. There was plenty of time before Bo had to go to work, so they weren't in any hurry. He enjoyed holding her hand, teasing a grin out of her, watching the sun dapple her face as they walked through the trees.

He felt both drunk and sober, elated and nervous, numb and so hyperalert he was aware of everything, every bird song, every breeze, every rustle of the trees.

Damn. This must be what being in love felt like. No wonder it made people act like fools. The guys would never let him live this down—and he didn't care.

Of all the things that had happened since Morgan Yancy turned up in
her life, this morning had left Bo with the biggest sense of unreality. She couldn't believe he'd asked her to marry him, but even more startling was that she'd said yes. But he had, and she had, and she still hadn't recovered from the shock.

There were a lot of questions that needed to be asked and decisions that had to be made, but for now she couldn't concentrate on any of them. She would deal with those later—after she'd come to terms with the fact that she was getting
married.
And not just married, but married soon, as in whenever he was freed from the need to conceal his real
name. To him the delay was annoying; to her, events were progressing at breakneck speed. She was both dazzled and terrified; they were going from strangers to lovers to
married
in just two months? Well, a little over two months, by the time they actually got the deed done. Dear God, what was she thinking?

She was thinking that she loved him. She was thinking that living with someone was different from the on-off of dating, that she had gotten to know him faster than she would have from a year of dating. She was thinking that she relied on him, that he'd risked his life for both her and Tricks, that he always stood ready to back her up if she needed him. She didn't know his birthday, or his mother's name, or about a million other things about him—but she did know the important stuff, and she'd learn about the unimportant stuff as it came up.

When they got back to the house, he said, “I'll grab a quick shower and help you with lunch.”

“Are you going to town with me today?”

“Not today. I'm going to do some thinking about beefing up the security here, walk the hills behind the house again to see if I overlooked anything, that kind of thing.”

He was serious about the security, and given that he was setting himself up as bait, she was all for taking any precautions they could. The thought of danger coming here, to this place she'd made her own, sent chills up her back. He truly could die. He'd nearly died before she ever met him, but he wasn't hesitating to wade back into the fray, risking himself yet again. That was what he did, and who he was. She might fear what he did, but she wouldn't change what he was.

She put some bacon in the oven to bake, then began tearing up lettuce and dicing fresh tomatoes into it. Morgan came down the stairs two at a time as she salted and peppered the mixture. “I smell bacon,” he said.

“BLT wraps. The tortillas are in the refrigerator. Hope you like them.”

“I've never seen a BLT I didn't like, except for one that had avocado on it.”

“You like avocado.”

“I like guacamole. Two different things. And it's called a BLT for a reason, not a BLAT.”

“With that kind of reasoning, you'd leave off the bread.”

“Bread is understood. And it starts with a B, so that's taken care of. Even when it's a tortilla, it's still bread, just flat.”

His guyness when it came to food never failed to amuse her. On the other hand, he wasn't picky, which would have driven her nuts.

He set the table and kept watch on the bacon while Bo finished up with the lettuce and tomato part. Tricks stood watching it all with intense interest, positioned by her bowl as a reminder not to forget her when the food was doled out.

“As if I'd forget,” Bo chided gently, keeping one eye on the clock because she didn't want to feed Tricks early. Tricks looked at her bowl and back to Bo, then nudged the bowl with her foot.

“It isn't time.” Though it was just two minutes early, a rule was a rule, because if you bent it Tricks would devote herself to bending it even more. When the digital numbers changed, Tricks barked.

“Scary,” Morgan commented, having watched the performance yet again. When the numbers changed, Tricks recognized the magic ones that signaled Food Time.

Bo measured out the food and set it down. Tricks wagged her tail in approval, then began eating. Bo petted her, then a thought struck and she straightened to give Morgan a narrow-eyed look. “Are you marrying me just to get my dog?”

“It's a thought,” he replied without hesitation, then laughed. “As if marrying you would make any difference. She's yours and as far as she's concerned, no one else is even close. I know how she feels.” He winked at her. “I'm yours, too, remember?”

The silver-tongued devil, he knew just what to say. She chuckled and returned the wink, a little amazed at how easy it had become to flirt with him. She didn't think she'd ever winked at another soul before Morgan.

After lunch she noticed she was running a little tight on time, so she hurried to take a shower and get ready. Morgan would be busy, which
meant Tricks was going with her. She would tell the important people in her life about her and Morgan, and put her head together with Daina to start making plans. Now that Morgan's desire to get married
tomorrow
had been thwarted, there wasn't any need for both a quick marriage and then a ceremonial wedding later. They could make some quick plans, Miss Doris would bake them a cake—nothing fancy, but when something tasted as good at Miss Doris's cakes, it didn't have to be fancy—and she could go shopping for a dress. A simple ceremony, maybe in the park; simple refreshments and treasured friends. His mother could be here for the actual ceremony. What could be better? But if the situation with Morgan hadn't resolved itself by then, they'd have to be extra careful and not have the ceremony outside.

A chill went down her back. How many weddings were planned with the idea that a sniper might take out the groom?

Thinking of that precaution led her to think about the larger security areas they had to address. Both she and Morgan would have to be extra careful. As soon as he was cleared to make his “blackmail” call to set events in motion, she would have Daina keep Tricks. She couldn't bear the idea of Tricks being in danger again—Morgan, either, but this was his show, his job, and his decision. Tricks was as innocent as a child. Being separated would be difficult for them both, but better that than Tricks being harmed.

Because all that was on her mind, she felt uneasy as she went downstairs. “Be extra careful,” she said to Morgan, her brow furrowed. “Take your cell phone, and your weapon.”

He nodded to the Glock lying on the kitchen counter. “Planning on it. How about you? It's never too early to start getting in the habit of taking extra precautions. Where's your weapon, Ms. Chief of Police?”

“In my bag.” She'd bought a holster that she could clip to her waistband, but the only time she ever used it was if she and Tricks were going on a walk by themselves, something that seldom happened these days.

“Takes too much time to dig it out of a bag. Get it out, and keep it handy.”

His voice always took on a matter-of-fact coolness when he slipped into what she thought of as action mode, but he knew what he was talking about so she didn't argue. She got the holstered weapon out of her bag and clipped it to her waistband. “I feel as if I'm masquerading as Lara Croft, Tomb Raider,” she muttered as she pulled her shirt down over the bulge.

“Naw. You're way cooler,” he said with a quick grin, though his hard gaze swept down her form. “Carry your bag on your right shoulder, and no one will be able to tell you're packing.”

She got her cell phone and Tricks's leash. Tricks bounced to the door and stood there looking eagerly at the door handle, concentrating as if she could open the door by force of will alone. Bo figured that in Tricks's mind that usually worked because if she stared at the door long enough someone would open it for her.

“I'll call you when I leave,” she told Morgan, stretching on tiptoe to kiss him.

His arm went around her and he pulled her close for more than one kiss. “Drive safe. Love you. See you tonight.”

She hesitated, then said, “I love you too,” a little shyly, because saying the words still felt so strange, because feeling free to say them was nothing short of earth-shattering. She could feel herself blushing as she went out the door, with Tricks darting ahead of her, barking in an excited frenzy as she dashed around the vehicles.

“Tricks, load up!” Bo called as she used the remote to unlock the doors. She opened the passenger door for Tricks and tossed the leash onto the console. Tricks was still barking, and Bo started to turn to call her again.

Something hard jabbed painfully at the back of her skull, and a man said, “Don't make a move, or I'll blow a hole in your damn head.”

B
O FROZE. HER SKIN PRICKLED AS IF ICE CUBES HAD
slid down her spine. Her knees wobbled like gelatin. Her throat and lungs seized, her heart rate leaped into a full gallop.

But while her body was reacting to the twin bombs of terror and adrenaline, her mind somehow distanced itself, fought for clarity. Two thoughts occurred. One, the voice and accent were American, which meant this was likely Mr. Kingsley. Two, she'd been right about the hacker being right under Axel's nose. How else could they have been located so fast, when they had talked to Axel just last night?

Tricks was still barking; she was surprised Morgan hadn't already stepped outside to see what was up. Because he hadn't, maybe he'd glanced outside the window and was already in action. She had no idea what form that action would take, or what direction he would come from.

Kingsley grabbed Bo's hair in a painful grip and jerked her head back. “Shut the dog up, or I will. Now!”

Galvanized by the threat, Bo managed to say, “Tricks, sit.” Her voice was thin, but at least it worked.

Her head was at such an angle that she could barely see Tricks out of the corner of her eye, but Tricks stopped barking and her butt hit the ground, and she looked up with her big doggy grin, expecting to be praised and petted. “Good girl.” To Kingsley she said, “She's a golden retriever. They're very friendly.” God, don't let him mistake Tricks's
barking for aggression and shoot her; most likely her barks had meant
Someone new to pet me!

“No shit,” he said, jabbing the pistol harder against her skull. “Do I look stupid? But she's a pretty dog; I might take her with me when I finish here.”

How pathetic was it to feel grateful that Tricks might survive even if she and Morgan didn't?

Think!
She had to think. There was a pistol in the holster at her waist, hidden by the bag slung over her shoulder, if she could get to it without him noticing. Pulled tight against him as she was, he'd notice any movement. Then it didn't matter because he switched hands with the weapon held to her head and swiftly frisked her, immediately finding the pistol and jerking it off her waistband. “How about that,” he said sarcastically. “Who would ever think the chief of police would have a gun? Did you think I wouldn't check?”

They knew who she was.
She doubted the Kingsleys would have been able to find out both the location of Morgan's cell phone and her identity without using government assets, so they had—just not the United States government.

She wondered how long he'd been out here. Had he seen them go in, but perhaps hadn't been close enough to get an accurate shot? Pistols weren't distance weapons. On the other hand, maybe he'd simply been waiting to catch one of them alone. If it were Morgan, he could kill him and leave, but Bo was the one who had come out of the house first. She knew damn good and well he intended her to be the shield between him and Morgan.

Her thoughts raced feverishly. How good a shot was he? He was a lawyer, right? How likely was he to be expert with a pistol? Competent, maybe, but when people like him went hunting, they were more likely to do game hunting with important clients they needed to impress. Shooting with a scoped rifle was a far cry from being accurate with a pistol.

But what if he was? Unlikely people took up target shooting.

And target shooting was very different from shooting at people, who didn't just stand there unmoving. One of the classes Jesse had insisted
she take had emphasized always running when faced with a pistol, that the odds were you wouldn't be hit. Okay, if she could pull free—

That thought was interrupted as he tightened his hand in her ponytail, wrapping it around his hand and jerking her toward the house. “Keep your mouth shut, open the door, and don't try anything. Where is he?”

“He . . . he was in the kitchen when I came out, but he was going to change clothes so . . . I don't know for sure.”

“When we go in the door, where's the kitchen?”

So he either hadn't had a chance to reconnoiter and look through the windows, or he'd been too afraid to try. Walking up to someone's windows during the day and peering in was kind of noticeable. “To the left,” she said, letting her voice quiver. That was kind of accurate: ahead, and somewhat to the left, but definitely not directly to the left.

“Which way does the door open?”

“Ah . . .” She actually had to think about that, because she opened the door both going and coming and either direction seemed natural to her. “To the right.”

He pushed her forward.

Surely Morgan had seen them. Surely he'd slipped out the back door and was easing around the side of the house.
But what if he had gone upstairs for something?
She had no way of knowing. She stumbled to buy time; it wasn't much of a pretense because of the way he had her head pulled back. She couldn't see where she was putting her feet. If she hadn't known every foot of her property so well, she really would have stumbled and fallen.

“Stand the fuck up,” Kingsley snarled, pushing her forward another foot or so.

Morgan would have heard Tricks barking, in any event. She had to trust that he'd at least looked out the window.

Tricks barked again, that joyous, welcome sound that she gave when she saw just two people: Bo and Morgan.

“She likes to be petted before she'll eat,” she said jerkily, unable to think of anything else to say but hoping she could distract him from
Tricks, both her barking and the possibility that she might be dancing toward Morgan.

Dear God, please let Morgan be coming toward them. Please don't let this asshole jerk force her inside the house and catch him unawares. If that happened, they were both dead.

“What?” Kingsley sounded startled, as if he couldn't put her words in any context. That was good. That was what she'd wanted.

“Tricks. When she gets fed at night. She likes to be petted.”

“Forget the damn dog. Don't open your mouth again.”

He pushed her once more, his hold on her hair pulling her head slightly to the right. At the very edge of her vision she saw movement, movement that wasn't Tricks. A pistol was jammed against the back of her skull but she had to do something to keep him from seeing Morgan. If she startled him he might pull the trigger anyway. She had no way of knowing whether or not she was signing her own death warrant but there was nothing else she could do. At least Morgan and Tricks would be okay.

The two beings she loved most in the world would be okay, and that was all that mattered.

She simply lifted her feet and let herself drop heavily to the ground.

Hot pain seared through her scalp. Her whole body jarred as she hit the ground. Shots, both a sharp crack and a deeper roar, shattered the morning, the world. Her head and neck burned as Kingsley's grip on her hair jerked her head around. Moisture, hot and red, drenched her.

Then everything was quiet except for her ringing ears. She felt odd; her focus was both blurred and sharpened, a series of images flashing in great detail while everything else blurred. She was lying on her side without knowing how she'd gotten there, staring at small pieces of gravel and blades of grass, the first post on the porch, the concrete. Everything was sideways, which puzzled her until she realized why. Oh, right; lying on her side would cause that.

She knew she was alive, but wasn't sure how. She couldn't order her thoughts enough to . . . Kingsley . . . where was Kingsley? He wasn't gripping her hair any longer though she tried to move her head and
couldn't. Maybe he was the bulk she could feel at her back. Maybe he was still using her as a shield.

She saw Morgan charging toward her, big black Glock in his fist. She saw Tricks right at his heels, heard her barking. She said, “Tricks, be quiet,” afraid Kingsley would shoot her. Then she realized there was no point in being quiet now, nothing to be gained from it, because obviously he already knew Morgan was there. Why wasn't Kingsley shooting? And why was her voice so weak and distant?

Then Morgan skidded to his knees beside her and shoved away the heavy mass that had been resting against her back. His eyes were pale blue fire in his strangely white face as he gently eased her flat on the ground. “Let me see, sweetheart,” he said softly.

She frowned up at him. “See what?”

“Your neck.”

He was pulling at her clothes. Tricks was whining, nosing her arm. Bo lifted her left hand and gently stroked Tricks's leg, which seemed to be about all she could reach.

“What about my neck?”

“Kingsley shot you.”

“He did?” she asked, surprised. “I don't feel shot.”

“Trust me on this.” Morgan turned her head to the side, his touch tender, and he blew out a breath of relief. “It's more than a graze, more like a deep gouge, but no important veins or arteries were hit.”

“That's a plus.” She managed a scowl, though she wasn't certain why—maybe to reassure him that she was okay because grumpy meant okay. “Are you sure you didn't shoot me? By accident, of course.” Kingsley's pistol had been against her head. How could he possibly have missed enough to just graze her neck? Or gouge. She couldn't quite picture the difference.

“I'm certain,” he growled, shucking his tee shirt off over his head and tying it around her neck, cinching it almost painfully tight with the knot right over where her neck was beginning to burn.

“How? I heard two shots.”

“Because my shot hit him.”

That made sense, so she stopped arguing and instead grappled with the logical conclusion. “He's dead, right?”

“Very.”

She was fairly certain “very” meant something grisly. She didn't want to look. She kept her head carefully turned away as Morgan slipped his right arm under her knees and his left one under her back, lifted her, and easily stood with her cradled against him. Her head swam from the movement, and she clutched at his bare shoulder. He carried her inside the house, pausing at the door to call Tricks in a sharp tone that had her trotting obediently to him, as if she knew this wasn't a time for mischief. She whined as Morgan carefully laid Bo on the sofa.

“Don't try to sit up, that'll put pressure on your neck and make the bleeding worse,” he said as he grabbed up the phone.

“Wait,” Bo said, lifting a hand toward him. She was surprised to see blood on her arm, her hand. “I'm not critical, right?”

He hesitated, his expression still fierce and set as he stared down at her. “Right.”

“Get in touch with Axel first. That's more important.”

Morgan's jaw set, then he started tapping the screen of her phone. “I'm sending him a text. If the hacker is capturing all his calls and hears my voice, he'll know it's all gone to hell and bolt, alert Congresswoman Kingsley. ‘Ha ha, big brother, I was right,'” he read to her. “He should be able to figure that out, because you'd never call him big brother.”

After the zipping sound that signaled the text had been sent, he tapped the screen some more. “I'm calling Jesse direct, instead of 911. I want to keep this as quiet as possible, give Axel time to throw a net over his hacker,” he said to Bo, then, “Jesse, this is Morgan. We've had some trouble at Bo's house. One man dead, Bo's injured, not critically. Get some people out here, but keep it quiet. Nothing over the radio. This is all tied in with why I'm here.” He listened for a minute, then said, “Okay,” and thumbed off the call. “Jesse's getting everyone rounded up,” he said, then eased down to sit on the edge of the sofa with his hip against hers.

“I almost had a heart attack,” he growled. “I heard Tricks bark, looked out the window, and saw him jab that barrel against the base of your
skull. I grabbed my weapon and went out the back door, but I expected to hear a shot every second.”

“I had some use as a shield,” Bo said drowsily. Her neck burned and throbbed, but overall she just felt sleepy and very fuzzy. “That was the only reason. Thank goodness it wasn't Yartsev.”

“Yeah. He'd have had a better plan.”

She would likely never have seen Yartsev, she thought. She'd have driven off, he'd have killed Morgan as soon as Morgan stepped outside, then perhaps he'd have waited for her to return. Probably not; she'd have simply returned home to find Morgan's body, and she would never, never have recovered from that. Kingsley, on the other hand, hadn't had the skill or the experience to pull it off. But she was tired of thinking about it, tired of fighting to stay awake. “I'm so sleepy,” she mumbled, and closed her eyes.

“Baby, no, you can't go to sleep.” He put his hand on her shoulder and shook her.

Her eyelids cracked open just enough for her to give him a baleful look. “Did you just call me baby?”

His lips twitched. “I did. And you can't do anything about it.”

She managed a smirk. “The joke's on you. I don't mind at all. Just let me rest, okay?”

“You are resting. You're flat on your back.”

“But you keep talking, and I want to take a nap. Just a short one.”

“No dice.”

“Then get a washcloth and get some of this blood off me, okay?”

As soon as his weight left the sofa and he disappeared, Bo closed her eyes and went to sleep.

She was roused by the slow slide of a warm, wet washcloth over her
arm. “Tricked me, didn't you,” he said without heat, his touch firm but tender.

She didn't feel guilty. “Just for a minute. I'm so tired.”

“Adrenaline crash and blood loss.”

“Where's Tricks?”

“Lying right here. She's fine.”

Her phone signaled an incoming text, and Morgan picked it up. “He said, ‘Gloat, why don't you? 10-4.' He understands.”

She didn't see how he could tell that, but he was the one who worked with Axel so she took him at his word.