Blind Fury (12 page)

There had to be another way to get the information she wanted, but as long as Mick was on her like duct tape, her ability to investigate was limited.

Too worked up to sleep, she flipped on the lamp and snagged a small notepad and pen from her purse. A list would calm her. She used them to get the ideas and questions out of her brain in an organized fashion. It made the impossible seem possible. Today, all of her attention was focused on how she could uncover the truth about Rob’s death.

She had eaten, slept, and breathed that question until it was part of who she was. It had left her with an empty space inside that wouldn’t go away until she knew the truth. Perhaps that was her flaw. She couldn’t let things go. As a child, she’d nagged her mother for the truth about Santa Claus, even though she feared the answer. After her mom finally admitted that she and Jenna’s dad were the ones responsible for all those presents under the tree, Jenna had cried for hours.

Her mom had warned her not to seek answers she couldn’t handle, but that was one lesson she’d never learned. The need to know was part of her.

And deep down, she believed that the truth would make everything okay again. Whoever was after her would be foiled. Mick would move on. Life would go back to normal. Worse, because now she was more alone than ever, but normal. Predictable.
Safe
.

The blank page mocked her. After all, what were her options? Claymore wasn’t talking. Mick wasn’t talking. The State Department wouldn’t tell her anything. The other men who were involved had no reason to tell her anything, nor could they be trusted. She wasn’t an investigator. She didn’t have a clue where to start, and she didn’t have the money to hire someone who would.

Her only leverage was Rob’s pictures, but she still felt she couldn’t share them with the FBI or the police. If she did, the evidence might be buried. The government’s track record so far was less than stellar. The only time they took the actions of contractors seriously was when the media got involved.

The media! Head-smack moment. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

A reporter had called her before Rob’s funeral to get the details straight. If she could just think of his name… She snapped her fingers trying to remember. Something Longstreet. James. That was it.

After scrawling it on the paper, she turned off the lamp and lay back on the sheets.

First thing in the morning she was going to email that reporter.

T
HE
NEXT
AFTERNOON
, J
ENNA
stared at the email reply from James Longstreet. She had emailed him as soon as she woke up, asking if he had any additional information about her brother’s death. He wrote in short bursts of thought separated by ellipses. She found herself mentally inserting “STOP” after each burst, like it was a telegraph transmission.

Rumors of another Nisour Square…no confirmation…State Dept & DOJ not talking…what do you know?

Nothing. She knew nothing. Her chest deflated like a popped balloon. And apparently he didn’t know any more than she did.

Mick sat on the couch with his back turned, doing his own secret work on his computer. God, what a pair they were. Allies and enemies, all mixed up. The whole situation was exhausting. Even little things were starting to grate on her.

Like having to wear a bra until bedtime.

If he would just tell her what he knew, she wouldn’t be sneaking around. She didn’t want the media circus that might be sparked by her efforts, but Mick had left her no choice.

The other problem was that she couldn’t focus on work. Fear, lies, and lust had twisted her shoulder muscles into knots, only adding to her stress about her deadline, being followed, and, oh yeah, her house blowing up.

Her eyes flicked across the email again.
Rumors of another Nisour Square.
She didn’t recognize that reference, so she Googled it. Four Blackwater contractors had been charged with firing into a crowd of Iraqi civilians, killing seventeen.

Could Mick and Rob have been involved in something like that? Dread slid down her throat, bitter and slimy.
No
. They were honorable men. Mistakes happened in the heat of battle, but neither of them would hurt innocent people on purpose. And the skirmish had been small, involving only a few Afghan militants. At least according to the official version.

She reread Longstreet’s email, her fingers lightly stroking the keys. Should she respond?

“What are you doing?” Mick asked from just behind her.

She jumped and switched the screen to the desktop before turning to glare at him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.” Her heart raced beneath her palm.

He reached over and brought her email back up before she could stop him. “Damn it. Why are you talking to that scum? Do you have any idea what you could unleash if you get that guy sniffing around?”

Anger flooded her limbs with righteous energy. “How could I? You won’t tell me anything.”

His face turned crimson, his hands closing into fists at his sides. “What did you say to him?”

She’d never been afraid of Mick before, but when he reached for her, she ducked her head and hunched over to protect herself. It was pure instinct.

“Christ, Jay.” He backed away, his eyes full of anger and pain. “You really think I would hurt you?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” she said softly, blinking back the damn tears that were always at the ready lately.

He stared at her, breathing like he’d just finished a race. “I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of, but I would never…” He ran his fingers through his hair and closed his eyes, lifting his head to the ceiling. “I wish you could just trust me that you should leave this alone.”

“Don’t you realize that every time you say something like that it only makes me want to know more? That’s like telling Pandora not to open the box.”

“But if I told you the box could explode if you opened it, would it make a difference?” He rubbed his face and leaned against the couch. “I’m not trying to patronize you. I’m trying to protect you.”

“Well, by forcing me to look elsewhere for information, you’re getting exactly what you’re trying to avoid.” Her argument was perfectly logical. There was no defense against it.

“I don’t know how to make it more plain,” he said, fatigue threading through his voice. “If you pursue this, you’ll not only put both of us in danger, but that reporter too.”

“Then just tell me the truth and I’ll stop.” It really was that simple. Why was he being so stubborn? It was too late for her to go back to believing the official account.

“No.”

“Why not, Mick? I don’t understand.”

He sprang up from the back of the couch. “Because I don’t want you to know what happened. Is that clear enough?” He dropped his voice and held her gaze, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I don’t want you to know.”

Mick watched Jenna back away. The hurt and confusion on her face cut through him like a hot blade. The worst part was that she’d read him correctly. He
had
wanted to hit something. Not her, but something.

“Mick?” she asked in a near whisper.

He cut her off with a shake of his head. “Don’t.” His head buzzed with anger and frustration that he didn’t know how to contain. He needed to leave before he did something monumentally stupid. Like scare her witless. Or spill his guts.

Palms pressed to his temples, he closed his eyes. He could really go for a beer. Or twelve. He felt his car keys dig into his thigh from his front pants pocket, demanding his attention. He knew a long stretch of deserted road where he could rev up the Camaro’s engine. His nervous system practically sat up and begged him to do it.

But he couldn’t really leave Jenna alone, because even what she didn’t know had the power to hurt her. They’d already seen that. There’d been no direct threat since the destruction of her house, but he knew she wasn’t safe. They were still being followed, and she was intent on continuing to dig. Sooner or later someone would find out.

How the hell was he supposed to deal with this? He’d never expected to be in close quarters with her for this long. Under normal circumstances, he could have easily avoided her and her questions, but not when she was living in his home, sleeping in his bed.

He opened his eyes and met her gaze. She took a tentative step toward him, and then another. His feet felt like they were mired in cement as she crossed the plush carpet in bare feet, bringing with her that sweet scent that turned him inside out.

She stopped mere inches from him and put her hands on his biceps. Her fingers were cool as she stroked his arms down to his wrists before starting back at the top again. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t want to fight.”

He shivered under her touch, both energized and soothed. The red haze of anger ebbed, but more dangerous feelings started to take over. In a perfect world, she would never stop touching him. In this world she had to—right goddamn now. As she reached up to start again, he grabbed her wrists, careful not to hurt her. She let out a surprised gasp that drew his attention to her pink lips, so moist and soft. “Hey,” he said, releasing his grip slowly. “I’m not made of stone.”

Her eyes widened and she shifted away, hugging herself. “You just looked so… I don’t know, but I needed to do something to help you calm down.” Picking at a thread on her T-shirt, she said, “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

For a long moment, he just looked her in the eyes. “Rob is dead,” he finally said. “He’s not coming back. Nothing can change that.”

She cringed at his blunt words. “I can’t turn off my desire to learn the truth,” she said, with an edge of frustration to her voice. “But I’ll try to stop asking you about it.”

That wasn’t quite the reassurance he was looking for, but it was something. “Thank you.” And then against his better judgment, he hugged her. “I don’t want to lose your friendship, Jay. You’re too important to me.” He skimmed a palm along her silky curls and kissed her forehead, wishing he had the right to do more.

He released her before he could change his mind.

Jenna was shaking when Mick let her go. He’d been so tender.
I’m not made of stone.
Maybe he wasn’t immune to her limited charms, after all. Maybe he really did think she was beautiful. Or maybe he was just a sex-starved man who’d take any woman he could get.

Except that he’d pushed her away. So clearly she was easy enough to resist.

Still, would he give in if she pushed a little harder?

Tara was right: Jenna had nothing to lose. Mick had already stolen her foolish heart, and she probably only had another week or two with him.
 
He’d have to find work eventually. He couldn’t play bodyguard forever. Once he left, her chances of finding out what happened to Rob would drop dramatically. With that in mind, she had a sudden idea of how to start. Only one type of clothing could give her the strength and confidence to pull off something like this.

“Would a run help?” she asked. In workout clothes, she wasn’t just a woman, she was a kick-butt runner. For some reason, that changed everything. It made her feel powerful. Silly, maybe, but true.

His brow furrowed. “Help what?”

“You’re wound up tighter than a spring.” She glanced at the front of his jeans. Her face went hot, but she soldiered through. “You keep reaching for your keys, and I’m guessing you want to go do something stupid.”

He whipped his hand from his front pocket, but didn’t deny it.

“Running will dull the urge. You know it will. We can drive over to the trail across the freeway for a change of scenery. If you let me set the pace, you’ll be too exhausted to think of anything but sleeping in your bed by the time we get back.”

“Honey, I can always think of something to do in a bed besides sleep.” He smiled and his shoulders relaxed a degree.

“I’ll bet,” she said, surprised by how relieved she was to have the old playboy Mick back. He was so much less intense, so much easier to handle than warrior Mick.

“You change first,” he said.

Game on
.

The butterflies in her stomach took flight, but she would not back down now. There was too much at stake. She chose her outfit from one of the shopping bags she was using to hold her new clothes and closeted herself in Mick’s bathroom.

Once dressed, she examined herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.
Oh, no way
. She couldn’t go through with it. The woman in the jog bra and spandex shorts wasn’t her. She was showing way too much skin.

Except, that was kind of the point, right?

Sure,
Jenna
would never dress like this. She was all about practicality and comfort and modesty. So she needed to think like someone else. She needed to think like Tara. What would Tara do?
WWTD
? Jenna giggled and then took a deep breath. Okay, she could be serious about this. She could become her sexy alter ego, Jay. A woman Mick couldn’t resist.

At least not in close quarters after months without sex. No one said she had to play fair.

She covered her indecency with sweats—no need to give away her plan too early—and with one last fortifying breath, she opened the door and stepped into the living room.

“Mick’s on to us,” Beavis said as soon as Troy Griffin—a.k.a. Ghost—answered his phone. “I stayed out of sight, but he managed to lose me for a couple of hours. It was definitely on purpose. Riz called in when they got back to the condo.”

Griffin stood next to the office window in his Georgetown condominium and idly watched a powerboat cruise down the Potomac. Late afternoon sunlight sparkled on the water, blinding in its intensity. “You’re going to install a tracker to prevent this from happening again, right?” He fought to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“Yes, sir. Working on it now.”

The smuggling operations were lucrative, but he was already regretting his involvement. If the Feds got wind of what Claymore had been up to, it could lead right back to him. And all because the idiots working the operation had let Rob Ryan find out. It didn’t exactly help that they’d made such a mess of their efforts to clean up the loose ends after his death. A fucking explosion. Real subtle. If Griffin’s guys took out Mick and Jenna now, the police would look much more carefully at the cause of death. Jesus Christ, he should have just taken care of this himself from the beginning.