Bad Nights (16 page)

Morgan paced from the window to the bed and back, longing to get out of this house. Away from these men who were trying to dictate her life. What if it hadn't been the end of the semester? What if she'd been expected back in class after the weekend? Then what? She was just supposed to blow off her job at George Mason University?

She'd had a very normal life up until she'd found Jack Brandt in the woods. Well, normal if you conveniently forgot the part about her husband getting shot and killed by a burglar. She'd been sure Glenn's violent death was the worst thing that could ever happen to her. Now she was caught in a situation where she had no control. Not over the circumstances and not over her feelings.

When Morgan heard a car start outside, she ran to the window in time to see the SUV they'd come in pull away.

Were they simply leaving her to rattle around in this house by herself? What if she made a phone call and told someone where she was?

That thought was driven from her mind seconds later by a knock on the door. Without waiting for an invitation, the door opened and Jack stepped inside.

She challenged him with a defiant look. “What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

She'd had that exact thought before. Now she heard herself say, “About what?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“I'm tired of hearing your bullshit.” She had always thought of herself as a rational person. It seemed her roiling emotions had moved her beyond rationality. Without considering the consequences of her actions, she flew across the distance between them and raised her hand to pound on his chest.

The blows rained onto a solid wall of muscle.

“Don't.”

Maybe he meant to restrain her because he grabbed her by the shoulders, his gaze locking with hers. For a charged moment, neither of them moved, and then everything changed, as though the world had suddenly turned the wrong way on its axis.

“Morgan.” The look of desperation in his eyes tore at her. They had only known each other for a matter of days. But the danger swirling around them had forged a bond that cut through months of an ordinary relationship. Tension thrummed in the air around them, tension that seemed to pull them together.

Did she move first, or did he?

All she knew was that he lowered his head, and she raised hers, and she understood that this moment had been in the making for a long time.

Their lips met, and she held on to him, because he felt like the only point of stability in a wildly tilting universe.

His lips settled on hers, then began to feast on her, with hunger and passion and need.

The invitation and the question in the kiss made her heart beat faster. And faster still when his hands began to move restlessly across her back, touching her with a sensuality that she'd thought might be buried so deeply inside him that he could never reach it.

Earlier she'd questioned herself. Now she didn't want to think about what she was doing and why. She only wanted to be in this moment, with this man.

With her arms around him, she reached under the hem of his shirt and pressed her palm against the naked skin of his back, sliding fingers over his warm flesh, feeling the ripples of sensation that skittered across his skin.

When she slid over a burn mark, he went still.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

Those were the only words they had spoken since she'd stopped hitting him. It seemed that words were unnecessary.

He did the same thing she had done, reaching under the back of her shirt and stroking his fingers across her naked flesh.

Closing her eyes, she marveled at the way his touch made her feel hot and cold at the same time. And marveling at the wonderful taste of him as she brought her mouth back to his for another heated kiss. When it finally broke, they were both breathless. Yet she sensed that he could turn away and walk out of the room. Not because he didn't want her but because he thought this was wrong for her.

She wasn't going to let his warped judgment or anything else come between them.

Her hands abandoned his back and went to the front of his shirt, pushing it up so that she could stroke her hands over his chest, avoiding the burn marks and drawing a sigh from him.

She leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to one of them, then found his nipples and circled them with her fingers, drawing a gasp from him.

She'd touched him intimately to tend his wounds. This was so different, and it seemed like a miracle that they were finally doing what they both wanted.

Closing her eyes, she murmured his name as she caressed him.

His hands stroked over her shoulders, down her back, up her spine, then back down again, to cup her bottom. She held her breath when he pulled her more tightly against himself, and she felt his erection pressing against her middle.

She stayed where she was, clinging to him, knowing that she was making a conscious decision.

When he stepped away, a tremor went through her, but he was only setting his pistol on the bedside table before yanking his arms out of his sleeves and tossing the shirt on the floor.

While he was doing that, she made herself busy taking off her own shirt and reaching around to her back, so she could unhook her bra, pull it off, and drop it on the floor, along with the shirt.

She saw his gaze go to her breasts. Saw him swallow.

“Lord, you are so beautiful.”

“So are you.”

He gathered her into his arms, a needy sound rising in his throat as her breasts pressed against his chest.

It was difficult to take a full breath, difficult to keep her balance as he swayed her in his arms so that her breasts moved back and forth against his broad body, drawing a small sobbing sound from her.

He hooked his fingers into the elastic at the top of her running pants, so that he could drag them down her legs along with her panties. She kicked both away and stood naked in his arms.

It felt wonderful when he slid his hands over the curve of her bottom, her hips, the indentation at her waist, all the places where she'd longed to be touched.

When he eased a little away, her hands went to his belt buckle, fumbling with unsteady fingers as she opened it. Next she undid the button at the top of his jeans and finally lowered his zipper.

Seeing him naked had felt intimate. This was so much more powerful. Reaching inside his undershorts, she closed her hand around his erection, feeling the length and girth of him, gratified by the way he caught his breath when she squeezed and stroked.

She wanted to keep touching him, but she knew that might bring their lovemaking to a conclusion too quickly. Withdrawing her hand, she knitted her fingers with his and led him to the bed where she pulled down the covers that she'd straightened so recently.

When she held out her arms, they climbed into bed together, rolling to their sides, facing each other.

His gaze was on her face as he cupped her breasts, shaping them to his touch, then played his thumbs over the throbbing tips.

She closed her eyes, her breath catching as he bent to take one hard peak into his mouth, drawing on her as he used his thumb and finger on the other side.

“That's so good,” she whispered.

“Oh yeah.”

When he slid one hand down her body, into her hot, moist folds, she cried out with the pleasure of it, then found out quickly that he wasn't going to rush this encounter.

As he touched her and kissed her, she did the same, thrilled by the tenderness and the sensuality between them.

She felt passion molded on her features, felt her hips lift restlessly against his fingers as he stroked her most intimate flesh.

And finally she knew that the time was right.

“Now,” she whispered as she rolled to her back and opened her legs. She kept her gaze on his face, seeing the intensity written there as he shifted his body on top of hers.

His eyes met hers, and everything inside her clenched.

Taking him in her hand again, she guided him to her, crying out as he filled her.

He kept his gaze on her as he began to move inside her. She matched his rhythm, her hands kneading his buttocks as she climbed toward orgasm with him.

She could feel him holding back, feel him waiting for her to reach her peak. It had been a long time since she had done this, but it was so natural with Jack. She felt herself contracting around him as pleasure flooded through her. As she climaxed, he let go, his whole body shuddering as his own pleasure claimed him.

When the storm had passed, he looked down at her for a long moment, and she smiled up at him.

He rolled to his side, lying on his back beside her.

Reaching for his hand, she twined her fingers with his.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I think that's my line,” he answered with a smile in his voice.

She breathed out a small sigh, closing her eyes and letting herself relax as she snuggled next to him.

His next words tore at her feeling of contentment. “You know I'm not the right man for you.”

Wade Trainer saw to his men first. He sent everyone who had come back from the burning cave to the infirmary. While they were being checked out, he flopped onto his bed and ordered himself to relax. But he couldn't stop his heart from pounding as he went over and over in his mind what had happened—starting with his man discovering Barnes in the office, proceeding through the interrogation, and the rest of it.

Had he made a fatal mistake by leaving the interrogation room when he thought Jack Barnes was unconscious? Was that his only mistake? Well, in retrospect, he knew he should have tied the man to the iron bed, but he'd been confident that he and two of his men could handle the guy when he was in shit shape. Wrong.

He knew for damn sure that he'd locked his office door. He always did. Or had he somehow slipped up that one time—and given Barnes an opportunity he shouldn't have had?

Finally he was rescued from his dark thoughts by the vibrating of his cell phone.

Wentworth, the male physician's assistant who served as his chief medic, was on the other end of the line. “You should come in to be checked out.”

He wanted to stay by himself in his room, but he muttered his agreement, then heaved himself off the bed and stopped in the bathroom to wash his face and dry it before walking smartly to the infirmary.

Only Wentworth and Philips were there, along with Preston, good news if you considered that they'd discharged the rest of the troops. Even Chambers was out and about with his leg in a walking cast.

He stepped into the small room and saw the injured man lying pale and unmoving on the bed.

“How is he?”

“He appears to have slipped into a coma.”

“Is he going to make it?”

“He'd have a better chance in a hospital. This is a well-equipped facility, but we don't have a real intensive care unit.”

“That's too bad,” Wade said with genuine regret. He hated losing any man, and he knew others would die when they made their attack on D.C. “We can't take him to a hospital and have him talk about what happened to him.”

“Understood.”

“Do the best you can for him. If he doesn't make it, we'll give him a hero's burial.”

“I will. Now let me check you out.”

When Wentworth had given him a clean bill of health, he went back to his office and pulled up his phone book on the computer. He'd made lots of contacts in the D.C. area while he was working security. He'd done favors for a number of men, and he thought about which one would be best to approach now.

He finally settled on Bob Davenport, a cop who worked for the National Park Service, which was big in the Washington area because of all the monuments and other showy wastes of money in the city. Davenport likely wouldn't approve of Wade's current enterprise, but he had a cover story he could use. The guy was black and normally Wade didn't trust blacks. But he'd known Davenport for a long time and was sure he could rely on him—as much as he was willing to rely on anyone who wasn't a part of the militia.

He was just about to call when the phone on his desk rang. As he looked at the number, a sick feeling rose in his throat. It was his money guy again. For a moment he thought about not answering, but he knew that wasn't a good idea.

“Trainer here,” he said.

“What the hell happened?” the voice on the other end of the line demanded, the tone somewhere between annoyed and angry.

“I got my men back to camp safely.”

“And did you apprehend Barnes?”

“He and the Rains woman got away.”

“Perhaps you'd better fill me in on your adventures,” the voice said with a trace of sarcasm.

Wade began explaining what had happened.

“Wait a minute,” the other man stopped him. “You say that Barnes had help getting away?”

“Yeah. From two other guys who showed up outside the cave.”

“Who were they?”

“I don't know yet, but I'm going to find out.”

“You'd better, or your whole operation could be compromised.”

Did that mean Mr. Money was going to withdraw his funding? Wade didn't want to ask, but he knew he had to get back on track.

As soon as he could get off the phone, he pushed back his chair and stood up. His fists clenched and unclenched as he left his office and walked across the compound to one of the steel buildings that his troops had erected on the militia compound.

The two windowless structures with barrel-vaulted roofs held the neatly stored conventional armament his troops used for practice—and what they'd taken with them on the recent missions. He had enough weapons and ammo to supply a small country.

He stepped into the building on the right and switched on the lights, looking around at his neatly arranged military might. He was especially proud of his stash of AR-15 rifles, adapted for semi-automatic, three-round bursts and full-automatic fire. They were the civilian version of the army's M-16, but just as effective.

The building didn't just contain small arms. He had everything from mortar launchers to a troop carrier. And he kept some of his big earth-moving and construction equipment in here too. Like the front-end loader and the steamroller.

The treasure trove of high-tech guns and other military toys never failed to make his chest tighten with pride. Look what he'd done in such a short time!

The weapons also gave him a sense of security. But it wasn't what really counted. At the back of the building was a second smaller structure, a steel-reinforced cube.

Stepping up to the keypad, he punched in the code that unlocked the door. When the mechanism clicked, he entered, switched on the overhead light, and closed the door behind him.

Inside, everything was quiet and still. He could have been in the tomb of an ancient king, if the ancients had had modern ways to protect their bodies and the valuables they hoped to take with them to the afterlife.

This place always gave him a mystical feeling, as though he was in church or something. He was like a priest who had been ordained by God to carry out a sacred mission, and this sanctuary was where he kept the means to that end.

Inside was a long metal table and rows of cabinets with small, locked drawers. Ten rows across, stacked four high. Forty drawers in all.

Most of them were only there to confuse anyone who managed to break into the room. Only one held anything of importance.

Make that of vital importance. He walked to the row of boxes, touching them lovingly in the ritual he'd developed. He thought of it as a way of insuring the success of his mission, but he had another purpose as well. If anyone was going to try and find his treasure by checking for traces of the oil from his fingers, they still wouldn't know which drawer was the right one.

But he did.

It was the one labeled number twenty-one. Three times seven. A magic number. Third row down, first on the left.

Not that he believed in magic, of course, but he knew there must be something to the old ways. And he was willing to use anything he could to insure his success.

He opened the drawer and peered in at the metal box. A vessel that held the seeds of destruction of the U.S. Congress and much of Washington, D.C. Chosen men would deliver it. They would die, but they would be martyrs in the cause of righteousness.

He murmured a few lines from the Twenty-third Psalm. Of course God wouldn't protect those men on earth, but he would give them a special place in heaven for their sacrifice.

And when Wade made the ultimate sacrifice himself, they would be waiting to greet him. And they would thank him for what he had done for them.

***

Morgan turned to Jack, her mouth so dry that she could barely speak. “Are you saying you're sorry you made love to me?”

She saw a quick succession of expressions cross his face. Denial. Doubt. Regret.

He dragged in a breath and let it out. “Part of me is angry at myself for giving in to temptation.”

“And the other part?”

“We needed something from each other.”

She'd had her own doubts. Now she wanted to say that making love had been the beginning of something, not the end. But she wasn't sure how to make him believe it.

Jack shifted toward her. “I'm not prime relationship material.”

“What are you?”

“A hard-bitten former Navy SEAL who's lost his edge.”

She'd been angry with him when she came upstairs. Now she was quick to defend him. “Lost your edge? Of course not.”

“I let Wade Trainer figure out I was a ringer.”

“That's not your fault.”

“Whose fault would it be? I was the man who infiltrated his camp.”

“Why don't you blame that Deep Throat guy for dishing out an assignment you couldn't possibly fulfill?”

He ignored the first part of the question and focused on the second part. “I could have done it if I'd had more time.”

“You looked through his computer?”

He hesitated.

“Did you or didn't you?”

“I'm not sure.” He swallowed hard. “I think someone hit me over the head, and I lost a piece of my memory.”

“What piece?”

“Whatever happened just before I woke up in the interrogation room.”

That was interesting information that she wanted to pursue, but Jack didn't let her.

“The point is, I got caught. And in the process I put you in great danger.”

“And you got me out of it.”

“With help from Shane and Max. And as we pointed out downstairs, you're not safe until we find out what he's doing and end his operation.”

Before she could answer, he plowed ahead. “And there's something else you don't know about me. My SEAL team was on a mission in Afghanistan, looking for insurgents in a village in the hills. I'm the only man who came back.”

She felt a shudder go through her. Maybe he misinterpreted the reaction, because his face darkened. Rolling toward him, she slung her arm across his chest and held tight to him.

“I'm so sorry. That must have been horrible for you.”

He lay without moving as she stroked her hands through his hair and over his back.

“What happened to them wasn't your fault.”

“I try to tell myself that.”

The explanation helped her understand him better. Coming back alive from Afghanistan was probably the reason he'd taken that risky assignment, infiltrating Wade Trainer's militia.

“I understand better than you think,” she murmured.

“Oh yeah?”

“Something similar happened to me. It didn't come out as badly—no fault of my own.”

He was staring intensely at her as she sat up, dragging the sheet with her to cover her breasts.

“A lot of people who teach psychology are also in clinical practice,” she said, almost wishing she hadn't introduced the subject. “I'm not.”

“And you're going to tell me why.”

“I was doing an internship at Springfield State Hospital. One of my patients was a severely depressed man. I thought I was handling him correctly. He hanged himself in the shower.”

Jack winced. “That must have been hard to deal with. But you said it came out okay. I guess he didn't die.”

“That's right. But not because I saved him. An orderly found him and cut him down in time.” She kept her gaze fixed on him. “After that I didn't take a chance on working with patients again.”

He nodded.

She'd wanted him to understand that she “got it” about Afghanistan. Message sent, she changed the subject.

“What are your plans for Trainer?”

He breathed out a little sigh, probably relieved that she'd switched back to business. “We have to find his moneyman and make him tell us what Trainer's up to.”

“Then let's work together to find the guy.”

He gave her a quizzical look. “You?”

“Yes. I'm trained in research. There's no reason I can't apply my research methods to helping find your guy.”

He thought about that, then nodded. “Okay. We could use the extra help.”

Was he going to give her real work? Or was he trying to keep her busy while she was confined here? She guessed she'd find out soon enough. And find out where the two of them really stood. She felt like Jack could walk away from her at any time. At least anytime after they solved the Wade Trainer problem. Meanwhile, she knew they were stuck with each other. Maybe that gave her an advantage—force him to deal with her.

She wanted to ask what he was thinking; instead she made another suggestion. “You said you didn't remember what had happened before you ended up in Trainer's torture chamber. Maybe I could help you recover those memories.”

“How?”

Before she could answer, a car pulled up outside the house, and they both jumped.

Jack reached for the gun he'd set on the bedside table. Naked, he leaped out of bed and ran to the window.

***

Wade knew he had to solve the Jack Barnes problem as soon as possible. Immediately after hanging up with Mr. Money he picked up the phone to call the Park Police guy, Davenport.

He was prepared to leave a message, but he got the man on his cell phone.

“This is Wade Trainer.”

“Long time no see.”

“I've been busy with that home security business I told you about.”

“Right. How's it going?”

“I've got a little problem. A guy I hired might be stealing from me. I'm hoping you can run his prints for me.”

Davenport hesitated for a moment.

“I'm willing to pay for the service,” Wade said. “How does five hundred sound?”

“Sounds pretty good,” Davenport allowed.

“I can bring you some stuff with his prints. Where do you want to meet?”

“At that bar we used to go to up on Capitol Hill.”

“Perfect. Can we do it tonight?”

“Yeah.”

***

Jack turned from the window, raising his arm against the glare of the setting sun.