#2 Dangerous Games (29 page)

Important information for Ice and a request for a meeting. That's all we have."

Their cells and numbers were secure. Son of a bitch, how had one of Fuentes' men gotten hold of them?

"We have more than one mole," Clint murmured.

"Roger that," Macey agreed.

"I'm making a stop inside Diva's; then I'm clear," Clint reported. "Expect me in sixty. If I'm not there, contact the remainder of the teams and secure the kitten."

Morganna had to stay safe at all costs.

Pulling the receiver from his ear and tucking it into the small pack on his belt, Clint headed for the back entrance of Diva's.

The private room he kept there held a small store of cash, fake IDs, and a few credit cards. He had learned enough over the years to become one paranoid son of a bitch where protection was concerned.

The dimly lit hallway was empty as he moved inside, the hard thump of the music pounding through the walls as he strode quickly to his private room. He was under no illusion that Drage wasn't watching for him. It shouldn't have surprised him to find out the club owner was involved with Joe in this mess. Drage Masters was a sly bastard, living just on the light edge of complete criminal intent and somehow managing to keep his balance.

Clint pulled the key card from his wallet, swiped it quickly through the security bar, and watched for the green light. He kept the gun securely against his thigh as he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Son of a bitch.

His lips thinned at the sight of the couple leaning negligently against the bar on the other side of the room.

Speak of the devil and he will come, followed by his gun-toting demoness.

"I don't have time for you, Masters," Clint growled. "Clear out."

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Drage sighed patiently as he turned to Jayne Smith and nodded slowly. A grin tugged at her lips as she reached to the other side of the bar and lifted a small wooden box to the top of the well-polished teak bar.

Damn. Maybe Clint's stash wasn't hidden as well as he had thought it was.

"You will find it untampered with," Drage commented softly as Clint closed the door behind him. "I assume time is of the essence, so I thought I would make it easier for you." "What do you want?" Clint kept his weapon lowered, though his finger lingered on the trigger. A fact that his host was well aware of, if the tightening of his lips as he glanced at the gun was any indication.

"I want the bastard who's using my clubs to kill women," Drage snarled with cold fury. "Killing men who could lead me to him in my parking lot won't help my cause much, my friend."

"Find Diego Fuentes and you'll find your problem," Clint bit out, ignoring the surprise in the other man's eyes. "Now get out of my way and let me collect my little stash there and I'll head on out."

"Fuentes is dead." Drage ignored his order. "He was taken out a year ago by the Colombian army."

"Actually, his cartel was busted by mine and Reno's units," Clint sneered. "Fuentes evidently escaped.

This drug was his and his little wife's brainchild. Trust me, Fuentes is alive, and I don't have a whole lot of time to get back to Morganna and get the hell out of here. One of her suspects, Roberto Manuelo, is one of his highest henchmen. Follow him, you'll find Fuentes."

"Is that wise, Clint?" Jayne Smith spoke up. "Running won't capture him; you'll always be looking over your shoulder."

"Don't fuck with me," he snapped, caressing the trigger of the gun. "The bastard nearly ambushed us at a party earlier. He took out one of my men in Colombia and he hit another last night. I have a damned itchy trigger finger right now, so don't push me, Smith."

"Fuck!" Drage pushed his fingers roughly through his hair as he gave his head of security a pointed look before turning back to Clint. "Bring Morganna here, Clint. Let him believe you're still accessible. Draw him out where you'll have your back covered."

"Covered?" Clint arched his brow. "Aren't you the one whose men can't even catch the bastards working this drug? And don't tell me you haven't figured out that the DEA team working this little game has a mole, Drage. I thought you were quicker than that."

"We know, and we are very close to cracking his identity," Smith revealed, her voice as cold as a winter night. "Bail out now and Fuentes will go looking for you. Continue this operation and I'll cover your back personally, Clint. We find the mole and he will lead us to Fuentes. Whoever he's paying off would have direct access to him. You know the control freak he is. He wouldn't allow anyone else to work this for him. It would be too important to him."

She was right, as much as Clint hated to admit it. Because no way in hell was he putting Morganna's life on the line any further.

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"No."

"Jesus, Clint, you're losing your objectivity here," Drage snarled. "You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment. You know we're right. Fuentes has stepped up his efforts to refinance his cartel. He'll take you and Morganna out the first chance he has just for the hell of it now. Let his own ego take him down. Work with me here."

"And I'm supposed to trust you for what reason?" he growled. "Weren't you the one preparing to sponsor my woman, Drage? That was confidence-inspiring."

"It got you off your ass and into her bed, though, didn't it?" Drage shot back. "I don't believe in running from your demons, Clint. Perhaps I was helping you face yours."

"Well, thank you all to fucking hell and back," Clint snarled furiously. "Did I ask for your help?"

"Consider it a favor between friends." Drage waved o: the sarcastic remark with a mocking flip of his hand as his lips flattened with his own anger. "We have the master suite downstairs. I can circulate the rumor that you have tired of her defiance and you're using the suite to complete her training. No one would doubt it except Fuentes. He would attempt to hit you here. To do so, he would have to use the mole he has within Merino's team. This way, we both get what we want, and you aren't running alone.

Fuentes could have a damned army backing him. Don't be a fool with Morganna's life."

Clint had a nice little cabin deep in the mountains, secluded, sheltered. He had taken great pains to keep it secret. but he knew the information could be had. He had intended to run there with Morganna, to hide her as far from danger as possible. But would she be safer there, where he couldn't face the enemy?

"Clint, they raped and tortured friends of ours. These women they're striking have done nothing to deserve what they found at this bastard's hands," Jayne's voice echoed with a killing chill. "We would have betrayed you already if that was what we meant to do. Let's help each other."

They were right, and he fucking hated it.

"They won't expect the security system I have in place in the private rooms," Drage continued. "You'll have the suite to yourself for the week. You can make your appearance in the bar each night and taunt him with the fact that you're killing his men off and that you're unafraid of the threat he represents. If you run, you're giving him the upper hand."

"Dammit, I know that," he snarled. "This is Morganna. Drage. She's as predictable as lightning-"

"She's smart, and she's careful. You haven't watched her the past months as I have." His lips quirked faintly. "Her brother has entrusted me with her care for nearly two years, Clint, and I am the eyes and ears that allowed her to work this operation for the past six months. Trust me, if I didn't think she could carry this off, then I would be helping you to cart her out of state." Okay, that made better sense. Clint knew Reno was well acquainted with Drage and Jayne. He hadn't expected this, but as he thought about it, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Which also explained the fact that Raven was able to monitor and block the calls to Reno's cell phone. This was the only way Reno would have allowed it.

God, he was going to kill Reno. He could have at least warned him.

"Shit!" He raked his fingers through his hair in a gesture of complete frustration.

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Everything inside him was screaming out in rejection of the idea. Every possessive instinct in his body was demanding that he cart his woman off and hide her as far away from this shit as possible.

"You need backup for this, Clint," Jayne inserted. "You know you do. If we work together, we can finish Fuentes for good." Bloodlust echoed in Jayne Smith's voice, causing Clint to stare back at her with hard intent. "They nearly had me, McIntyre," she revealed, her lips tilted mockingly. 'Trust me, that drug is no fun, and had they managed to get me out of the club I was in that night, I would nave never lived to find vengeance. Now I want vengeance." The flash of fury in her eyes, the cold set of her expression, combined with Drage's sudden tension, convinced Clint. He hated it. If there was anything he hated more than blowing Morganna anywhere near the danger swirling around this club, then he couldn't imagine it.

But they were right. Eventually, Fuentes would find him in the mountains. He couldn't keep watch 24-7

on his own and he couldn't ask Reno to leave his sister right now and help him.

"I need a car," he bit out. "I have her hid for now. I'll collect her and bring her back here. You." He pointed his finger fiercely back at the two of them. "Had better have your shit together. Because if anything happens to Morganna, there won't be a hole you can hide in deep enough to save you. Man or woman, I'll kill you."

"He's so fierce." Jayne shivered mockingly. "I bet I could teach Morganna how to tame him, though."

"Tsk, tsk, kitten," Drage murmured. "Let's not tempt an explosion until we're in safer quarters."

Shit, they reminded Clint of Morganna. Was this where she had learned her smart-mouth tendencies or had she taught them to Smith? He didn't doubt she had.

"You can use my car." Smith pulled a set of keys free of the snug pocket of her leather pants and tossed them to him. "It's completely secure and parked in the underground garage I'll be waiting for you at the back door when you return and we'll get her inside safe and sound. Let's do this and do it right, Clint.

Then we'll all be safe."

He caught the keys in his free hand as he finally allowed himself to breathe in deeply. He didn't like admitting to the terror that had crawled through his system when he realized how easily Markwell had been taken out. He had been one of the best. A fully trained Navy SEAL warrior with the reflexes and instincts that only sheer talent for the job and hard training could instill. Fuentes wouldn't be easy to take out. If Clint could at least manage to wound his network enough to find that lab, then they could defang him for a while, if nothing else.

"How do we work Merino?" Clint asked then.

Jayne Smith smiled easily. "We tell him the truth, of course. You aren't comfortable with the attacks on Morganna or the fact that one of your men has been taken out, so you're going to work from here. We'll work with him and see what Fuentes' next move is. In the meantime, I'll have a tag put on each of Joe's men and see what happens. It won't take long."

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No, it wouldn't. Fuentes had shown how desperate he was get his hands on Morganna. He would make his move soon. "I'll be back tomorrow night." Clint nodded his head. "I need to sleep a few hours and get a few things together. Do what you have to on this end." Drage straightened from the bar, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

"We'll have everything in place, Clint. I look forward to working with you."

Yeah, Clint just bet he did. The son of a bitch didn't count success from the amount of money he made but rather from contacts he could call in. Clint wasn't a man who liked to beholden. But in this case, he was also a desperate man because he knew if anything happened to Morganna, if the fire that burned in her eyes were to ever dim, then Fuentes wouldn't have to kill him. The grief alone would.

HE DROVE BACK TOWARD Mace's neighborhood in the leather comfort of Jayne's steel blue Z4

BMW Roadster. it wasn't the extravagance of the car, the smell of warm leather, or the ride he would have enjoyed at any other time that filled his head.

He thought of the friends he had lost to Fuentes' damned network. Nathan Malone, "Irish." He had fallen during the mission in Colombia.

His death had been a hard blow. Nathan was a good friend, but with his death Clint had seen what was left behind. Nathan's young wife had been destroyed. Clint remembered seeing her at Nathan's memorial service, her eyes vacant and hollow, her face as pale as death.

She had worshipped Nathan, just as Nathan had worshipped her.

And Devin Markwell. Hell, he was one of the best fighters the SEALs had ever produced. His body was an efficient, highly trained weapon, yet he had been taken out.

It didn't make sense. Fuentes couldn't know who had taken out his compound. That wasn't possible.

Even the Navy hadn't listed their names for that mission. Unless Nathan was alive. It was the only answer.

Clint leaned his head against the backrest, feeling weariness drag at him. He was damned tired. Tired of the missions, the deaths. It had begun with Irish's death. Seeing the horror and grief on his young wife's face had started the cycle. Now- God, Clint didn't think he could do it anymore. If they managed to take Fuentes out this time, then it might be time to pack it in. Clint was thirty-five years old and felt eighty. He had two more years before he could claim his retirement. Maybe it was time he began considering that.

And then there was Morganna.

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He had left her with one of the biggest womanizers he had ever laid his eyes on. Mace was dependable, a hell of a brute fighter, and loyal as hell when it came to the battle. But he liked women. Loved women.