Blindsided (34 page)

She moved down the hall toward the sound of male voices. Carthridge and Garret muttering to each other as Teigan spoke authoritatively in the background with someone else. Whitesman? Com then. If she wasn’t mistaken, both Nolan and Morris were in there, too.
 

“Teigan,” Garret said in a tone meant to catch attention. Silence.

Teigan grunted. “I’ll get back to you later, after we’ve had time to consider the angles.”

“This wasn’t exactly a suggestion,” Whitesman stated callously.

“I said I’d consider it,” Teigan reiterated.
 

The slight crackle of an open com disappeared. All conversation broke off and the room fell silent. Figures, she was the little woman and they the big bad men. They’d just see about that, this little woman was sick of being coddled.

Taking a deep breath of fortitude, she stepped into the room and stopped, strategically blocking the door so no one could escape. Well, not easily, not without physically removing the lady from their path, which she doubted anyone—excepting perhaps Teigan—would dare to do. It seemed that although the V-10s had no problem snapping, growling, and tossing their weight around in typical male pissing matches, one thing all the Viadal brethren seemed to share was a desire to shelter and coddle those of the fairer sex—at least they did her. All she had to do was step in the room where tensions were frizzing and they’d lay aside whatever issues they might have to jump to her immediate assistance.
Must be some effect of the increased levels of testosterone in their genetic code.

“Good morning, gentlemen.” She folded her hands in front of her, giving them all a saccharine smile. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?”

There was a shuffle of feet—discomfort. A large inhalation of breath—anticipation. And was that, yup, a muffled string of swear words—Teigan. He didn’t like whatever it was Whitesman had “not” suggested. And given that the level of unease had increased, rather than dissipated when she’d entered the room, she could assume she’d been part of the topic of conversation. Interesting.

“Nothing,” Teigan growled from near the desk. “This discussion has just ended.”
 

The desk squeaked as if he’d pushed off of it and his scent drew closer, most likely expecting her to let him past. She jerked her chin up in defiance. His hands closed around her upper arms and he tried to gently shift her to the side—be still her beating heart, the first time he’d touched her in seventy-two hours! Jerk. She planted her feet wider, folding her arms. Nope, not happening. No one was leaving this room until she was ready to let them.

He dropped his hands with a speed giving the impression that touching her burned. “I’d like to get by, Aria.”

“I noticed. I also noticed that was Whitesman on the com, and how all conversation ended when I came down the hall.” She let her head drop back, drew in the scent that pulsed in waves with Teigan’s every heartbeat. Anger. At her for prodding? The pang beneath her breast made her want to retreat, to flee into the bedroom that had become her prison over the last few days, but the desperate need to finish this, capture Byron, prompted her to stand firm. “What were you discussing?”

Teigan shifted back a good two paces. If he’d worn a big ole sign that said “get thee gone, not interested” she couldn’t have gotten the message more clearly. But then again she was blind, so maybe she was dense, too. Because there was no way in hell she was letting him get away with brushing her off so easily.
 

“Nothing you need to worry over,” Teigan finally said.

“Really…” she drawled, letting her blank gaze shift from man to man around the room.

“We were just discussing our options,” Nolan offered.
 

She nodded. “Because Byron’s not budging. Not now that he’s gotten wind of a trap.”

“We may have to consider Whitesman’s suggestion of splitting up the team.” Carthridge was obviously addressing Teigan. “Two targets. Morris’ birthday is just around the corner. Byron might try for one or the other if he thinks the security isn’t as tight.”

“That would put a real strain on the individual members of each sub-team.” Teigan didn’t sound at all thrilled with the suggestion. Aria had to say she didn’t like it much either. Two Viadals would be a challenge for Byron, but he’d already shown his aptitude for diverting attention and slipping by unseen. A moment, one moment of inattentiveness, and Byron would have that next notch on his belt, and an extra one for a bonus.

“Keep Morris here with one other team member, augment it with the Special Forces Whitesman’s offered, if you want. We have this place battened down so well now, I highly doubt Byron would make a try for him, especially since Morris isn’t his primary target. Then as added incentive, you put Garret someplace isolated, someplace that seems irresistibly accessible. And someplace where Bryon can’t turn the setting against you. No feeds, no extra bystanders.”

Aria found herself nodding. It was a bit risky, but she could see how that might work.
 

“And you think Byron would go after Garret there when he won’t here?” Teigan asked. “He, too, will realize that the lack of feeds is actually a disadvantage to him.”

“Then you might just have to add back in that extra juicy bait,” Carthridge said, sounding un-phased.

Teigan’s response was immediate and vulgar. “Fuck that.”

Aria tensed. Teigan never snapped at Carthridge. All interactions she’d seen between the two men had been very calm and respectful. What Carthridge was saying wasn’t anything they didn’t already know, so the suggestion of extra bait must have something to do with the discussion that had been abruptly cut off when she came into the room. And therefore, she must still be that extra juicy bait.

“Teig,” Garret put in calmly, using the nickname for the first time she’d ever heard. “Don’t be close minded. She’s already involved.”

“And fuck you.”

“You know I’d like nothing better than for you to say ‘screw you’ to Whitesman. But…it’s a good strategy.”

“And what if it works too well?” Teigan sounded truly frustrated, almost…afraid? There was undeniably the scent of fear underlying the anger and frustration saturating the air of the room. “What if the bastard decides he isn’t into subtlety and goes for a nice big bang instead?
 
Using Morris as a sitting duck here is bad enough, but putting You, me, and Aria in that cottage, which is not exactly Fort Knox, is asking for a disaster to occur.”

“What cottage?” Carthridge asked.

“Aria?” Garret lobbed the ball into her court.

Aria stumbled a bit at the pass, surprised to be addressed, though she was thankful he’d deemed her competent enough to include in the conversation—unlike some men in the room. “Teigan’s thinking of my mother’s cottage.”

“You want isolated, that place qualifies,” Garret told his ex-teammates.
 

“What’s it like?” Carthridge asked.

Aria figured he was asking her and gave him the basics. “Built in 2013 in a cape-cod revival style, it’s primitive by modern standards. The closest neighbor is about two miles farther up the road and used as a summer home, so they aren’t always there. Ten miles from the closest town, and that’s about twenty minutes from the edge of the city by sky-way.”

“Terrain?”

Garret answered that. “Forest, though there is a good twenty meters of cleared lawn between the house and the tree line. There is some fairly extensive gardening and bushes that will pose a bit of an issue, but turn on the floodlights and you won’t find an inch of shadow in them. The terrain itself is relatively flat landscape other than the creek. And the forest is mature so there isn’t a lot of undergrowth.”

“I’d like to see the place, but it sounds like it would work,” Carthridge said.

“You’re going to have a problem with wildlife,” Teigan told the V-10, sounding peeved that the topic was even being discussed. “Perimeter sensors aren’t going to work if a bunny keeps tripping things. And you’re assuming I’m going to okay Whitesman’s suggested strategy.”

“Have a better idea?” Carthridge sounded like he’d had about enough of Teigan’s temper tantrum.

Teigan muttered something unintelligible under his breath, then, “I fucking hate this. How in the hell did he know we’d be watching him through private sector feeds?”
 

“Great question. Any ideas?”

Aria had one: Byron wasn’t stupid, and as soon as she’d become visibly involved with “Garret” he’d assumed the powers-that-be suspected him as the killer. Knowing what she—his sister—was capable of, he’d immediately taken measures to counter any technical aid she might bring to the table. Easy. Simple. Why was this so hard to understand? Still, she didn’t bother to reiterate her explanation. She’d already passed the idea by every single one of the men in the house. So either this was another facet of the “big men, little woman” syndrome, or it just wasn’t settling well with any of the boys.

There was a drumming sound, as Teigan rhythmically tapped his fingers on the desk panel. After a good two or three minutes where the only sound in the room was five men breathing and his drumming, he sighed, the rolling waves of agitation that had been coming off of him fizzling. “You’re right. We’re running out of time. Whitesman’s suggestion is the best option we have.”

“We’ll leave you to discuss this with Miss Idyllis then.” Carthridge shifted toward the door. Aria moved to the side, allowing the V-10 and the rest of the team to file out. It looked like she was going to get what she’d been wishing for the last three days: To be in the same room, alone, with Teigan. However, she didn’t think it was going to measure up to any of the fantasies she’d hoped this meeting would entail.

Aria waited. Now she was going to get some answers. It was obvious that she, as much or more than her mother’s cottage, was going to be an integral part of the new plan. She understood the need to get Byron away from the city. Byron wasn’t stupid enough to try and penetrate their stronghold here. They’d hit a stalemate and he was waiting them out. At least until he decided he didn’t give a crap about fairness. Time. She could hear it ticking away.

Soft footfalls marked Teigan’s approach. He moved past her and for a moment she thought he might try to leave the room as well, but then he halted, and the door that had been left constantly open since she’d arrived closed.
 

He wanted to talk to her alone. With no prying ears.
 

Her anxiety levels hitched up another level. Was what he had to tell her so bad that he feared her reaction?

He turned to her. She could feel his breath breeze in and out across her forehead and the scent that now seemed imprinted on her libido as “her man” flooded her nose. So close. Her traitorous body immediately reacted. Heat pooled in her belly and her pulse thudded like a bass drum keeping time to the increasing arousal of her body.

She waited. Waited for him to speak, waited for him to move…waited for him to
touch
her.

Why do I keep waiting? What am I? A timid little mouse?
 

The thought of growing whiskers and scurrying away to the corner with a little squeak had her forcing her hand forward, finding the thick band of muscling of his forearm. It bunched, then relaxed under her light grip. Encouraged, she leaned in closer. “He’s not going to come if he sniffs a set up.”

“For this he will.” Teigan’s voice sounded gruff, like he was in pain…or at least pained by the situation. Did that include her touch?
 

She dropped her hand, linking her fingers together as she closed her eyes. “What are we going to do?”

He took a long deep breath before he spoke, his voice calm and even once more. “We’re going to throw an offense so great he can’t possibly ignore it.”

“What’s that going to be?”

His hands closed over hers, breaking their clasp. She allowed him to lift them, holding her hands in his. His thumb raked over her fingers; sizzling energy leapt under the gentle caress. “I wish…”

She tipped her head up, gnawing on her bottom lip, then realized she was waiting on him again. Mouse.
 

“Wish what?” she asked.

“Different time, different place.”

The words were said so softly she had to strain to understand them. Different time? Place? For what?

His grip shifted further under her left wrist, freeing her fingers. Something cool and metallic slid onto her third finger. Was that…? Her heart thudded to a halt, then resumed at such a rapid pace she half wondered if it was possible for it to explode.

“How do you feel about lots of flowers, some classic Elvis, a white dress, and a small chapel?”

He was proposing? Her eyes must have instinctively widened, all of a sudden there was enough light that she was able to make out his outline as he stared down at her, waiting expectantly for her answer. And then reality hit her. No, not proposing
to
her, his proposition was for a
method
of baiting Byron. The accident, which had almost taken Willis’ life, had taken precedence over their possible budding relationship. Furthered by her disappearance from society, current speculation was that she was hidden away in deep mourning over the loss of a dear family friend. But this, them “marrying” would put her and Teigan back in the headlines and thus, hopefully, press one of Byron’s most unreasonable buttons. Extra juicy bait.