Agent I1: Tristan [01] The D.I.R.E. Agency (3 page)

Oh really? “We’re talking about my only brother here.” She followed him to the bar and took a seat. One thing about a missing train, she had no trouble sitting down.

Opening the refrigerator, Tristan pulled out two beers. Rachel watched his forearms flex as he opened the bottles with his bare hands. His fingers were long, his hands huge and dotted with scars.

“Defense, Intelligence and Reconnaissance Enforcement.” He slid a bottle in front of her. “I’m a product of the Science Division.”

Taking a sip, Rachel frowned as the cold, bitter taste slid down her throat. “Is that where Aidan will work?”

With a shrug, Tristan opened the refrigerator again. He pulled out a bowl covered in foil. “All depends on his test results.”

“What kind of tests? Like physical ability?” Surely, Aidan’s SEAL training proved he was physically fit.

“They’ll perform aptitude tests to determine where he can best serve the organization.” He popped a bowl into the microwave.

“And what exactly does
D.I.R.E
. do?”

Tristan studied the plate as it turned in the microwave. Rachel waited for his reply. Her stomach told her to brace herself. Whatever this agency did, Tristan knew she wouldn’t like it.

He set the warmed bowl and a fork in front of her without meeting her eyes. He turned back to heat his own bowl, which had twice as much food in it.

“Well?”

Glancing over at her, his gaze was cautious. “We’re a private contractor.”

That was… vague. Did he really expect her to be satisfied with that answer?

“Contractor of what… exactly? Define what defense, intelligence and reconnaissance enforcement really is for us normal humans.”

Scents of garlic, cayenne pepper, and oregano filled her nose. Her stomach growled as she waited for him to answer.

“Whatever the client needs - surveillance, recovery, intelligence, invasion… take out…” He busied himself by the microwave.

Rachel stilled. “Take out?” Her fingers tightened around the fork. “For some reason, I don’t think you mean Chinese.”

His somber blue eyes met hers. “No.”

Oh God… “Do you mean killing people – like a hit man?”

The microwave dinged and he turned away. “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

Rachel held her fork prongs towards Tristan. “Are you paid to kill people?”

He shrugged as he pulled the bowl from the microwave and placed it on the counter beside hers. “Sometimes. But, they’re contracts on hardcore criminals and bad guys.” He sat on the stool beside her.

Her nerve ends tingled when he sat beside her. Rachel wasn’t sure if that was due to his godly good looks or his ungodly profession.

“So, you’re saying my brother is going to be a hit man?”

“No.” Frowning, he dug into his food.

Obviously, the thought of killing people didn’t affect his appetite.

Turning to look at her, he swallowed his stew. “
Like me
, he will continue to be a soldier – just not for the United States Government.” He sighed. “Think about it, Rachel, with my abilities, I can be anywhere in ten, twenty seconds. I can sit in a room of bad guys and listen in on their plans. I can walk through an enemy compound without notice. People pay a lot of money for my ability and skills.”

Her appetite waned. “I bet they do. You’re probably a lot like the men that shot my father.”

Tristan stilled but wouldn’t meet her gaze.

Gritting her teeth, Rachel embraced the betrayal and downright anger that surged through her. How could Aidan work for an organization like that? His own father had been
taken out
by professionals.

“He owned an electronics store in Creekmore, Texas. Why would
professionals
want to kill him?”

Just the thought of what her father went through that night six months ago - the fear, the pain, the knowledge that he would die and leave his family forever…

Rachel’s stomach knotted in anguish. Unfortunately, Jim Monroe wasn’t granted a quick, merciful death. He’d hung on for months as a quadriplegic.

“That’s only a small part of our work, Rachel. We primarily deal in intelligence.”

“Justify it all you want.” She picked at her food. “But, you haven’t been on the receiving end of
take out
like that.”

Sitting up straight, his nostrils flared. “I do what I do to protect the world. To
rid it
of bad guys.”

She dropped her fork and turned to him. “My father was not a bad guy.”

“
And, I didn’t kill him
.”

Rachel shut her eyes and took a calming breath. Maybe he didn’t kill her father but, whoever did knew what they were doing. No fingerprints, no sign of forced entry. No noise, no witnesses.

No killer.

She lifted her chin. “I want to go back to Creekmore.”  This man and all he represented threatened her sanity.

Tristan turned back to his food. “After Aidan calls and gives the all clear.”

Rachel clenched her fists. “I am so
done
with this whole mess.”

“You and me both.” He gave a quick shake of his head. “But, that doesn’t mean we’re leaving. Now eat. You know you’re hungry.” He shoveled food into his mouth again.

As much as Rachel hated to admit it, Tristan was right. She hadn’t eaten all day and she was starved.

Reluctantly, she plopped a shrimp in her mouth.
Wow
. It tasted scrumptious, like out-of-this-world delicious. She could see why Tristan had wolfed down the food as if it were his last meal.

His phone rang in the bedroom. Tristan rushed to grab it.

Please let it be Aidan
.
I need to get home and sort out all of this mess
.

“Yeah, she’s awake,” Tristan said, as he walked back to the bar.

She also needed to get away from Tristan. How could Aidan send her away with a man like him? And, why in the world did she find him attractive?

“She’s anxious to get out of here. We aren’t getting along too well.” He put the phone on speaker and set it on the bar.

“Everyone gets along with Rachel.” Aidan’s voice echoed in the large room.

Rachel gave Tristan a cheeky grin. “You tell him, Aidan.”

Tristan met her gaze with a sarcastic smile of his own. “Must be my endless charm.”

She gave him a haughty brow.
Whatever
.

“I hope you’re calling to say I can go home, Aidan.” She looked down at the phone.

Her brother groaned. “Jock is pissed, Rachel, and Cody and his friends have been searching the streets for you. I sent Mom to Austin with Aunt Tiff to keep her out of this.”

Elbow on the bar, Rachel propped her forehead in her hand. “Oh, Aidan. See what you've done? If you would've just let me marry him, Dad’s medical bills would be paid off and Mom could quit her second job at the diner. She’s so tired, Aidan.”

“You didn’t want to marry Cody and we both know it.” His voice grew soft. “We’ll find another way, I promise.”

“Things will never be the same again, Aidan. You know there’ll be repercussions.”

He sighed. “I admit it will be tough at first, but it won’t be nearly as tough as being married to that jackass. Once the next scandal hits town, it’ll be long forgotten.”

Rachel stiffened. “Scandal? God, help me…”

“Tristan, can you pick up?”

Snatching up the phone, Tristan took it out on the patio. Pacing the concrete, he ran a hand through his hair, waved an arm out to his side, and spat the word
vacation
several times, with emphasis. Hanging up, he raised his face to heaven and cursed a blue streak.

Rachel’s heart sank.

Marching back inside, he threw the phone on the sofa. “Might as well get comfortable, princess. You’re staying the night.”

Chapter 3

Whack
.

How did she do it?

Holding the bat poised to swing, Tristan waited for the pitching machine in his batting cage to spit out another baseball.
Whack
.

In the space of one conversation, Rachel Monroe had brought out all of the demons he’d worked like hell to keep in check. She had exposed all of the guilt and self-hatred, all of the lies he told himself to justify what he did and the money he made doing it. She saw right through him.

Sweat trickled down into his eyes. He wiped it away with a vicious sweep of his hand.

Whack
.

The world he saw on a daily basis had influenced him. He witnessed so much death, destruction, greed…
evil
. It existed everywhere, even in Rachel’s little Creekmore, Texas. It acted like a cancer, spreading farther and wider every day. Once he extinguished a threat, another two or three popped up. He fought a never-ending battle, one that had become harder and harder to rationalize.

Whack
.

So, he told himself he deserved the obscene amounts of money he received for his work. After all, how many people were asked to defeat some of the planet’s most dangerous and well-protected criminals on a daily basis?

If he,
D.I.R.E
. and others liked them stopped their assault on that evil, what would happen to the world?

He cursed aloud.
Whack
. Why the hell did he care?

Mitchell had drilled it into Tristan’s head that he didn’t have the luxury of caring. He had to remain detached from the populace. If he allowed himself to get emotional or sentimental, he became vulnerable.

Vulnerability ensured defeat.

Whack
.

Remaining detached was so much easier when he stayed away from people. Having a beautiful, good-hearted woman like Rachel in his house was a freakin’
nightmare
.

Up to this point, the world,
people
, had been an entity, a general term defining the human race.

Listening to Rachel talk about her father’s death, hearing the anguish and hurt in her voice, tore at his insides. The tears that pooled in her eyes had brought out a raw anger in Tristan. He’d wanted to tear from the room and find the bastards – most likely some of Naylor’s men – and bring back their heads on a pike.

He shouldn’t feel that way; shouldn’t feel at all.

Rachel Monroe made it personal.

WHACK
. The bat splintered in his hand.

“Oh my gosh, are you hurt?”

Tristan’s head popped up. Rachel stood behind him on the other side of the batting cage fence. The fingers of one hand were hooked in the chain links, his bottle of extra-rare whiskey dangling from her other hand. Why didn’t he hear her?

Pushing the stop button on the pitching machine, he took in Rachel’s polished pink toenails, her long legs, and his black shorts rolled up to just inches below her bottom. His
Daughtry
t-shirt didn’t fit her any better than the shorts, but she looked way hotter in the clothes than he ever would. She had washed her face clean of makeup, her long, sable hair damp from the shower.

She made him hungry for something he couldn’t have.

He must’ve stood staring at her like an idiot because the next thing he knew, she said, “I’ll take that as a yes,” and set down the bottle at her feet.

Rachel opened the gate and stepped inside. Taking the bat fragments from his grasp, she tossed them on the ground and grabbed his hands. The scent of his spicy bar soap filled Tristan’s nostrils. The image of her using his soap on her body...

“I don’t see any splinters…” She turned his hands over in both of hers.

Staring up at him, her eyes were lined with concern. She trailed a finger over his palm, leaving a thread of fire along his nerve-endings.

He snatched away his hands. She jumped.

“I’m fine.”

She held up her hands. “Okay…”

Dammit, he acted like such an ass. Tristan picked up the bat remains and tossed them in a barrel in the corner.

“This is a pretty nice setup.” She glanced around the batting cage he had hidden in the thick brush beside his house before turning to walk out. “Creekmore has a men's baseball league. My neighbor, Mark, is one of the team captains. His wife, Glenna, is my best friend.”

Tristan locked the gate behind him. Normal life. So, that’s what it’s like. Go to work, come home for dinner with the family, play ball with the guys and have a beer afterwards.

He wouldn’t mind giving it a try. Although, if he had a wife like Rachel waiting at home, he may not make it back out the door once he got there.

“I hope you don’t mind.” She held up the bottle of whiskey. “After today, I feel like I need a drink – or ten.”

You and me both.

“Did you grab some glasses?” he said. They made their way around the house to the patio.

“All I could find were tall drinking glasses and I didn’t want to appear like a lush.”

“No, carrying around an entire bottle wouldn’t give that appearance at all.”

She popped him on the arm. “I brought it out here so you could open it for me.”

He unfastened the French doors and motioned for her to precede him. “So, what you’re saying is if you
could’ve
opened the bottle yourself, you would’ve had no qualms about filling a tall glass and draining it – possibly ten times.”

Rachel gasped. “You make me sound like a drunk.” She stopped beside him behind the bar. “Well, maybe.”

Grinning, he pulled two small glasses from a locked cabinet. They, along with the whiskey, had been gifts from a prince for a job he’d done for the royal family a few years back. He’d been saving them for a special occasion.

He’d just never thought the occasion would be surviving unfulfilled lust.

“You smile.”  Her aqua eyes shined. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Pouring them both a drink, his fingers brushed hers when he handed her a glass. A tingle raced up his arm. Why did he notice shit like that?

Rachel tossed back a drink as they made their way to the patio. She coughed into the crook of her arm several times.

“Wow, that’s strong.”

She sat on the steps that led down to the beach. As soon as Tristan sat beside her, he regretted it. Her nearness, her shoulder pressed against his arm, made him edgy. If she so much as said, ‘Tristan, would you jump my–‘, he’d pounce so fast she’d get vertigo.