Bulletproof (Unknown Identities #1) (17 page)

“Come back to the office and talk to the Detective.”

“Let him know I’ll cooperate, but I’m not dropping the story. People need to know –”

“I don’t care,” Bernie cut her off. “No story is worth your life.”

“This story will increase circulation and subscriptions ten-fold. I’m thinking if we do it in a series –”

“I won’t print it.”

Amelia sucked in a breath and held it, turning away from John’s quizzical expression. In deference to his security measures, the curtains were drawn across the kitchen window, but in her mind she pictured the idyllic winter view of years past. Trees painted gently with an early snow, the shadows of bare limbs creating a lattice work across a lawn turned white and sparkling under a cold winter sun.

This house on the peninsula had been her anchor, the one place where life didn’t dare go wrong. Grandma didn’t put up with it. Bad things might happen elsewhere, but here is where everything healed.

Even on short winter days, she would bundle up and go out to the old glider swing to read or write her assignments. It felt like a lifetime ago. The images flitting through her mind while Bernie railed about common sense and self-preservation, finishing with a dramatic ‘to hell with circulation’.

She laughed. It was too preposterous to offer a more polite response. “You’ll never convince me you mean that. We’re invested here,” she reminded him. “I’m not taking unnecessary chances.”

This time the sharp burst of laughter was from John. She glared him into a swift silence. He leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. It wasn’t exactly surrender, but she counted it a point in her favor.

“I have a bodyguard per your request. He’s with me twenty-four-seven, as you insisted. He’s proven invaluable, so I’ll say you were right and thank you for insisting. But I’m not quitting on this story. If you won’t print it, I’ll find someone who will.”

“You could try. As I said last night, you’ve made enemies in every political camp. No one wants to see your byline on a weather report. Let sen –”

“No,” she snarled. “Larimore doesn’t get a pass on this.” She rubbed at her forehead. “I’m telling you every layer of this is worse than the previous one.” She’d been poring over a few of defense budget items, trying to reconcile what wouldn’t be logically reconciled.

“I believe you. But I need you alive.”

She met John’s gaze. “I’ll stay alive. The bodyguard was a good idea.”

“Overkill,” Bernie said with a snort. “Quit trying to kiss up to me.”

“How’s the cat?” She racked her brain for a better distraction while he sputtered at the sudden change of topic.

“Plato is less of a pain in my ass than you are. The cat isn’t getting death threats. Your email inbox is full of –”

“You’re reading my email now?” Exasperated, she stalked out of the kitchen into the front room.

“Of course,” Bernie admitted. “Just your
Torch
account. I would never breach your private account.”

“Oh, never.” Amelia figured it was only because he couldn’t crack her password. Encryption was one more thing she’d learned from her source – the one who’d gone predictably silent after this morning’s failed meet. She hoped her source was alive as John believed.

“We’re getting plenty of mail right here to the office full of threats, promising retribution.”

“Snail mail or email?”

“Both.”

“That’s a good sign considering you haven’t printed anything,” she said. “I’m on the right track.”

Bernie’s heavy sigh resonated through the phone and pricked her conscience. He might not be in the direct line of fire, but the tense, uncertain situation was taking a toll on him. She shook it off, knowing she had to stay true to the big picture.

The senator was abusing his power for nothing more than money as far as she could tell. Money was fine, necessary even. It’s not like she’d duck if someone threw cash her way. She didn’t give a damn about the man’s net worth, only that he’d amassed it by burying his enemies –literally and figuratively.

He’d made deals with contractors, filled his share of helpful bills with the expensive choking crap that ruined potentially good legislation. Now, it looked like he’d killed his daughter solely to continue sketchy research into a bizarre super-soldier concept. The research was strange enough on its own. Add in the deplorable lack of ethics and she felt slimy just from reading the few nuggets of fact hidden by a heavy veil of legalese.

The man had to be stopped and she was apparently the only person in the country willing to do so.

“This is bigger than I thought,” she said, interrupting her boss’ current tirade. “I’ll send you the story, Bernie, and you can judge for yourself.”

“It’s done?”

“The draft is close enough to give you an idea of what you’d be turning down.”

His only reply was a long, slow exhale.

“Look, do what you want with it after you read it, but know that I’m only giving you twenty-four hours. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll send the story to other –”

A loud crash ended the call as a shower of splintered glass from the broken front window sprayed across the carpet.

She dropped the phone as John suddenly materialized from the kitchen, wrapping her in a protective embrace and sweeping her away from the danger. His momentum carried them behind the sofa and she found herself trapped between the shelter of his body and the equally unmovable wall.

Her heart pounding, his quiet exhalations teasing the hair at her temple, she waited for gunfire, explosions, or an armed intruder to barge in and haul them away.

None of those options would have surprised her.

The ensuing silence, however, shocked her more than the breaking glass. Peering over his shoulder, she spotted a rock in the middle of the faded oriental carpet her grandmother had prized. “A rock,” she whispered, trying to think past John’s warm, masculine scent enveloping her. His every muscle was tensed, braced for battle, while she felt her own body going lax, eager for something far more personal and private.

“What did you say?”

“A rock.” She might have pointed, if her arms had been free. No, she decided, wriggling a bit for space. She wouldn’t waste the opportunity. In the absence of more danger, she shifted again and indulged her curiosity, running her fingertips across the dark, rough stubble shading the unscarred side of his jaw. This close, she found another scar near his hairline just above his ear. Had the man grown up on a firing range? His eyelids slammed closed over those enigmatic green eyes and his teeth clenched.

“Stop,” he rasped.

She hesitated, listening for any noise that would signal another threat. There was only wind and rain, so she resumed her exploration of John. He flinched, acting as if she was hurting him, when she knew the opposite was true. It was obvious in every hard line of his body that he wanted to relax, needed to let go, and still he fought against it.

Astonishing, she thought, unable to come up with any viable reason why someone would resist something as valuable as a touch. Of course she needed the contact too, more than she realized. How long had it been since she’d let anyone this close to her?

“Please,” he whispered.

Yes, please
! She studied his lips, parted slightly, unsure if his plea was for her to stop or keep going. She knew her preference. His eyes remained closed, his body tense all around her. She seized the moment as she vowed she would after surviving the nonsense of this morning.

Eyes open, she closed the narrow gap and touched her mouth lightly to his. The heat from that small contact seared her, but it was nothing compared to the sizzle in his eyes as he watched her.

“Not smart,” he said, but though they were apparently safe, he didn’t relinquish his protective, all-encompassing hold on her.

“
Hmm
.”
To hell with smart.
Her breath rattled in and out of her lungs with a thready shiver. Amelia held his gaze as she leaned in once more. This time as lips met, she was ready.

Ready for everything but his immediate response.

His arms banded tight, bringing her flush against the length of his body. One hand spanned her shoulder blades while his other slid low, cupping her ass. When his hips flexed, she responded in kind. No mistaking that hard ridge between them as anything other than
him
. She wanted to explore his body, to touch and taste, but her free hand was trapped between their hammering heartbeats. Parting her lips, she welcomed the soft, hot invasion of his tongue. Accepting, caressing, she angled her mouth for better access.

She moaned when he twisted in the small space so that she was on top of him. His head flopped back to the floor. “We can’t do this. It’s not safe.”

He made her
feel
safe. She nipped at his jaw. “The rock was alone.” She was ready to celebrate every second of life that ticked by without another near-disaster coming at them.

“But we don’t know who threw it.”

He was right. Where was her head? In denial, evidently. She feathered kisses down the column of his throat, inhaled the tempting, spicy scent that was his alone. “Do we care?”

His arms relaxed, sliding away from her body and she wanted to scream in protest. “Yes, we care.”

“That’s a pretty liberal use of ‘we’.” She should care. She told herself in any other circumstance she
would
care.

His laughter rumbled from his chest into hers. A delicious sensation she wanted to linger over. “It was just a neighborhood kid taking a shot at the haunted mansion.”

“No sale. This place is in great condition,” he said, sitting up. “Your neighbors wouldn’t believe this place is haunted.”

“My grandmother had high standards.” Clearly the moment was over. She tried to ignore the tingle in her system as she sat up and leaned back against the wall. She smoothed her hair back from her face and straightened her ponytail.

“When did she die?”

“A few years back.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.” He didn’t quite meet her gaze, but she recognized the sincerity.

His mouth set in a grim line, he pushed the couch aside with his shoulders and exited the cramped space with more dignity than they’d arrived.

She accepted the hand he offered to help her to her feet. “I’ll just start cleaning up.” Pausing, she stared at the billowing curtains and the rain blowing in. How to deal with that? “There might be a plastic poncho in the coat closet by the front door. Will you take a look?” She stepped closer to the window, but John caught her arm.

“Stay back.”

“Fine.” Arguing would only ruin the delightful moment more. “I’ll get the broom.”

“May as well wait until I’m done with the repair. I’ll probably add to the mess.”

“You can fix it?”

He shot her that look that wasn’t quite a smile, as if he enjoyed it when she underestimated him. “I have some skills. There’s some plywood in the garage that will suffice until I can get a buddy out here with a new window.”

“You have a buddy with windows.” She folded her arms and leaned against the door jamb, studying him. “I thought no one was supposed to know where we are.”

“Based on what you’ve told me and what I’ve seen, unless we leave town with good disguises and fake IDs, anonymity is a pipe dream.”

He nudged at the offending rock with the toe of his shoe. “That might not even be enough. Someone has a good arm.”

She shrugged. If it had been someone after her, wouldn’t an attack have followed the broken window? “Maybe some kid’s holding a grudge because I wasn’t here to give out candy at Halloween.”

“Maybe.” He turned it over and she saw the message:
Come out and play, Noble.
“Or maybe not.”

“What does that mean?” An icy dread lifted the hair on the back of her neck. Maybe the threat was still out there, waiting to eliminate her protection and make her an easier target. Had she managed to hire the only bodyguard in town who could compound her precarious situation with his own enemies? What if this was one of the senator’s dogs trying the divide and conquer technique?

“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll take care of it.”

John’s cell phone started ringing and she jumped at the sound. Being closer, she picked her way through the razor-sharp glass to check the display. “It’s Bernie,” she said, preparing to answer.

“Tell him we’re fine. Blame the signal or a low battery, but don’t mention anything else.”

She nodded. His calm voice smoothed away the leading edge of her anxiety. It was tempting to ask who was waiting for him, how they’d followed him, and above all, why, but she wasn’t sure she wanted the answers. Yet.

“Do me a favor and take the call back in the kitchen,” he murmured, turning her that way. “And keep him on the line until I get back.”

She nodded again, wishing she had the courage to tell him to be careful.

“Be smart,” he said. “I won’t be long.”

Then he walked out of the front door.

* * *

John paused on the steps, applying his enhanced senses and confirming the potential risks. Nothing out here that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t much relief. Crossing the front yard in long strides, he headed around the house for the garage. Only one man would be stupid enough to put a rock through a window rather than pick up a phone.

A man John knew as explosives expert, Ben Thompson.

And only one place was private enough for any type of conversation between them, even out here on this quiet, narrow strip of land.

“You got my message,” the voice said from the dark corner.

Even recognizing Ben’s voice, John didn’t breathe easy yet. They’d met during the first week at Gabriel’s torturous survival training. Thomas had disappeared two days in and the rest of them assumed he’d died.

But the crazy adrenaline junkie had haunted John’s trail and tried to convince him to break away from the program. Whatever they’d done to him, winning the game was all that mattered to Ben now.

In the years since, he’d utilized his pyrotechnic expertise to interfere with two of John’s assignments, but John had prevailed. Ben seemed to take great pride in being a pain in the ass, but he was the closest thing John had to a friend of sorts.