Blaze (8 page)

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Authors: Joan Swan

BOOK: Blaze
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“What a mess,” she grumbled, her mind formulating damage control strategies. “Stupid, stupid people.”
The cell clutched in her hand rang. She looked at the caller ID, held her breath, and hit the RECEIVE button. “Tony, do you have him?”
“Yes, ma'am, I have him.”
The confidence in his words reassured her that not only did he have the kid, but that Tony was in charge of the situation. Jocelyn let her eyes close and her shoulders sag.
The army already had control of the scene. The other agencies had been debriefed with perfectly orchestrated lies. The press had been fed a load of horseshit. Senator Schaeffer would never know how close they'd come to discovery. To disaster.
She shook her hair back. “Very good. Nice work, Tony. Where are you?”
“About thirty minutes from the exchange point.” Jocelyn opened her mouth to praise him again; then Tony said, “I have someone else, too. I have O'Shay.”
Jocelyn's shoulders tightened. The only O'Shay that came to mind—Cash O'Shay—was imprisoned at the Castle, on the verge of a developmental breakthrough, promising to catapult the United States military into the next century as the leader in warfare. One that would have Jocelyn's name all over the credits.
“
Which
O'Shay?”
“Keira O'Shay.”
Confusion crisscrossed her brain. “Exactly what do you mean you
have
her?”
“I mean . . .” Tony hesitated. “I took her . . . when I took the boy.”
“How in the hell . . . ?” She stopped herself from exposing any more ignorance. Besides, the how didn't matter at this point. “Why would you do that?”
“Ma'am, didn't you read my briefing on the heredity aspect of Rostov's work?” He sounded like a ten-year-old asking to stay up ten minutes past his bedtime. “I sent it to your office by special delivery four months ago.”
Oh. My. God.
He was one of those. She would never have suspected.
Anger built, heating her base temperature ten degrees. “This mission does not in any way, shape, or form include Keira O'Shay. You have seriously jeopardized our role in this investigation, and you have dangerously overstepped your authority.”
“I had to take her.” His voice turned cold and professional. “I couldn't take the boy without taking her. He would have drawn attention. It was a command decision.”
Jocelyn's office door opened and Owen Young stepped in, looking as tall and fit as he had back in their military years together, two decades before in Iraq. A few white papers dangled from his hand, and as he read her expression, a questioning furrow creased his brow. She didn't need any more aggravation at the moment, but she did need information, so she waved him in.
“You had strict orders, Tony,” she said into the phone. “Do you realize the ramifications of your actions? Do you realize the shit storm that will explode when the rest of her team realizes she's MIA?”
“I can get rid of her if you want,” Tony said, bitterness creeping in now, “but you should at least see them together first. Read my report. Rostov was onto something. This could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Okay, he wasn't just one of those. He was a raving lunatic. Worse than Rostov. And he had custody of Mateo and Keira O'Shay. Beautiful. Just beautiful. She was going to strangle Tony's handler. Personally.
“That is exactly why we want to get him back to the Castle with his father.” The lie gave Jocelyn an idea. She drew in a slow, furious breath, searching for patience—not her strongest trait. “Take a picture of them together and e-mail it to me. Go ahead with the drop already planned for the boy, but just hold on to O'Shay for now. I'll call you back with orders. And, Tony. If you screw this up any worse than you have, don't expect to make your next annual review.”
“Yes, ma—”
She hung up, jammed both hands to her hips, and turned toward Owen. He'd settled his large frame on the loveseat across the room. One ankle rested on the opposite knee, one arm stretched easily on the back of the sofa, tapping the papers against the leather cushion.
His dark hair, just now threading with gray at fifty-five, needed a cut, but she liked it that way. She'd spent too many years looking at him nearly bald when they'd served together. And the sight of any shaved head now brought back memories of that village in Iraq and all those soldiers with similar crew cuts, strewn out across the dirt, dead. All because the Iraqi army had been one step ahead of the U.S. Better weapons. Better intel.
Owen had been with her that day, and the experience had created a unique bond. Nothing less would have been strong enough to hold their professional relationship together after the painful end to their personal one. Owen had been handsome back then as well. Maybe even more so, but in an entirely different way. More savage. More primal.
And he'd been good in bed. An amazing, tireless, demanding, sex maniac. Not a lover. He'd never been a lover. If he had been, she wouldn't have kicked him out of her bed. Out of her heart. Would never have turned to Jason, another unit member and friend. She'd stayed with Jason off and on for nearly twenty years, but never loved him the way she'd loved Owen in their few short months together.
“I came in here to tell you that O'Shay was at the incident.” He shrugged, his wide shoulders challenging the fabric of his sage dress shirt, still pressed and tucked into gray slacks, even at the end of a long day. The only testament to his frustration was the tie pulled loose at his neck and the deeper-than-usual crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “But it looks like you're one step ahead of me. Like always.”
“At the . . .” She squeezed the bridge of her nose and shifted through facts in her mind. “My God, the incompetence boggles my mind.” She threw her arm to the side and let it drop, then leaned against the desk. To avoid watching Owen's gaze roam down her narrow skirt and over her legs, Jocelyn scrolled through the contacts on her phone until she reached the number for Tony's handler. “No. I didn't know she was at the incident.”
“Good to know I can still keep up with you.” Owen's grin loosened, turned flirtatious. His eyes sharpened as he sat forward and pressed elbows to knees. “You are right about her team, though. They'll go ape-shit when they find out she's gone. Mitch Foster's going to be crawling up your ass before sunrise.”
Just the mention of that cunning, manipulative piece-of-shit lawyer made Jocelyn's skin ripple.
A man's voice sounded in Jocelyn's ear. “Deputy Dargan, ma'am?”
She held up a hand to Owen and spoke into her phone. “Redland, I don't want your excuses. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma'am. Absolutely, ma'am. I—”
“Esposito,” she cut him off with a curt snap of her voice, “was your responsibility, soldier. The results of his actions today remain to be seen. They are deep and far reaching and will affect our department, our careers, and ultimately the security of our nation. You will take care of the problem you created with your oversight.”
A heavy moment of silence wafted over the line. Redland was a former decorated Marine. Where he'd gone wrong with Tony, Jocelyn didn't know. What she did know was that addressing him as “soldier” would bring out all his loyalty and the dig about national security would cut deep.
“Are we clear,
soldier
?” Jocelyn asked.
“Crystal clear, ma'am.”
Jocelyn disconnected after his promise to contact her with status updates.
When she looked up, Owen's expression held a mixture of decades-old emotions that stirred her heart and her libido. Those eyes in crazy-beautiful shades of caramel and moss stared back with pride, awe, and plenty of heat.
“You always did have a way with words, Jocelyn.”
Owen's deep, slow speech reverberated around the office, rolling through her like a heat wave. Sexual, predatory, challenging. Since Jason had died—correction, been killed by Teague Creek and the hell that miserable team stirred, Owen had picked up his prowl around Jocelyn as if twenty years hadn't passed since their wild fling while stationed together during Desert Storm. As if Owen hadn't ever gotten married, had children. As if Jocelyn would be interested simply because Jason wasn't around anymore.
Idiot.
Whether Jason was around or not, she wanted Owen. He had a maddening way of making her want him and hate him at the same time. She could have entertained the idea of an occasional sexual interlude with Owen now that she was mature enough to remain emotionally distant, but there was a large and, Jocelyn often thought, convenient roadblock between them: Owen was still married. Jocelyn had never been, and would never be, a mistress.
She pushed off the desk and wandered to the windows again, her gaze blurring over the city lights. “If we let O'Shay go, she leaves with information about the boy, about Rostov. If we eliminate her, the others will crawl out from their quiet holes.”
She thought of Foster, and all his evidence. The photos and documents and taped phone conversations linking a dozen top officials—most important, Senator Schaeffer—to a slew of unethical, unauthorized, unsavory scientific projects funded by taxpayers. Information that would be strewn to various major media sources should anything happen to Foster or his team.
Jocelyn's mind churned with options. “If we can make it look like she was killed in the incident—”
“No chance.” Owen's voice cut into her plans.
She glared at him over her shoulder. “Why the hell not?”
He slapped the papers on the walnut coffee table at his knees. Pointed at something highlighted on the page. “Because Ransom was there, too. Reportedly aided her in the boy's rescue. He knows she didn't die in that incident, and he'd never rest until he found and killed everyone involved in her death. Besides, the news is already across the wires.”
Jocelyn's stomach dropped. She rushed to the table and picked up Owen's papers. Interdepartmental news updates. Next worst thing to media. This would be spread throughout every department in every government agency within hours.
“How did Ransom show up there? And you're off base on their relationship. They broke up three years ago. Not a word since.”
Owen sat back and reached up to pull his tie a little looser and unfasten the second button on his shirt.
“Time doesn't erase emotion,” he said. “At least, not for some of us.”
“Only those of us who
have
emotion would know that, Owen.”
“Low, Joce. Low. As far as I can tell, Ransom ended up there by statistical chance.”
“That's the same as coincidence, and I don't believe in coincidence.”
Owen tipped his head, narrowed his eyes, his thick dark lashes nearly obscuring the light irises. “What about fate, Joce?” His voice softened to what Jocelyn would have misconstrued as a vulnerable tone if she didn't know him better. But she did. “Do you believe fate brought Ransom and O'Shay back together?”
A stream of heat poured through the center of her chest. She crossed her arms and clenched her fingers around her biceps. “Why are you screwing with me, Owen? Frustrated? Is Libby going through the change? Not in the mood?” She raised her brows. “Having an affair?”
He didn't react. Unusual. A new tactic in his arsenal? If so, it was unnerving. But Jocelyn didn't show it. She held her ground and his stare.
“Ransom is part of a Special Response Team with ATF.” When he finally spoke, his voice was even, but subdued. The fact that he hadn't picked up her challenge hinted at something painful and personal brewing for Owen. Maybe he had developed emotion sometime over the past twenty years after all.
“His team covers the northwestern United States. Normally, the Los Angeles SRT would have gone to the incident with Rostov, but they were, and still are, dispatched to a hostage situation along the border of Mexico and Texas in a little hellhole by the name of Langtry. Some Mexican drug lord smuggling through a tunnel across the border.
“Esposito wrangled O'Shay into finding and retrieving this kid. Ballsy and innovative if you ask me, only it backfired on him when it became a siege and Ransom's unit was deployed. Once Ransom and O'Shay were within fifty miles of each other, they were bound to end up together. We can monitor, we can manipulate, but we can't control every move every member of their team makes.”
“Not every member,” she said. “But we should be controlling Ransom and O'Shay. Considering how their powers intensify, definitely
them
. And Creek. And Foster. And . . .”
Shit
. “Okay, yes, every member. Keeping them all apart is the best possible situation short of killing them.”
She lifted her fingers to her temples and rubbed small circles at the fresh surge of tension. “Schaeffer should have gotten rid of them all at that damned fire. It would have been so easy. This should have been handled five goddamned years ago. It's not my issue.”

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