Midnight Promises (7 page)

To compensate he made sure his body language was unthreatening around the ladies. SEAL training had taught him how to intimidate, how to threaten without words. He was good at that. But he also worked at looking harmless, though it was hard when he was taller and bigger than most people.

One thing he never did was be overtly sexual with women unless they were in a bedroom and it had been established that they were going to get it on. Certainly not with a woman he didn’t know.

Having his dick stir in his pants was the last thing he needed and was guaranteed to make Felicity scared. She was alone in the house with him, she was wounded, she was vulnerable and he’d rather slice his own throat than be considered a menace.

So he shut his dick down, fast. Shutting it down was harder than it should have been, because he controlled his dick, it didn’t control him but,
man
, the lady was so frigging beautiful, everywhere.

He snagged a chair and sat by the bed watching her eat, trying not to notice how sexy those lips looked when she put a piece of toast into her mouth, how delicate those long slender fingers looked holding the cup of tea. How his T-shirt hung off her neck, exposing pale smooth shoulders.

She was here, under his protection, and she was scared. He had no intention of making her even more frightened.

So he did the very best thing he could. He sat completely still and didn’t talk.

Stillness was a gift and he had it. Stillness was a subconscious signal to her. Violent or untrustworthy men couldn’t stay still.

Finally she finished the tea and the two slices of bread. She had more color back in her face, which pleased him.

They stared at each other. She swallowed heavily again. Not nausea, fear. Fear of betrayal. But she was going to have to trust him, no way around it. She trusted Lauren who trusted Jacko who trusted him.

A chain of trust. That was the way it worked. Otherwise you couldn’t navigate the world.

She opened her mouth, closed it. Sighed. “Did I lose my laptop?”

Well, that surprised him. Of all the things to ask about when you were wounded by a stranger and woke up in the home of another stranger, a computer wouldn’t be the first thing that sprang to mind.

He nodded. “It’s safe and it’s here.” He didn’t smile. “We had to pry your fingers from the strap. You want it?”

“Yes, please.” Her voice was polite, but shook.

Metal had it back to her in a second. He placed the case gently in her lap. She didn’t open it immediately, just rested her hand on the tough canvas case. “There was a key in my pocket. Did you find it?”

“Yeah, Jacko’s got the key. It’s the key to a vehicle. Where’s it parked?”

Earlier, after midnight, when Metal had taken Felicity back to his place, Jacko had driven around Lauren’s house, pressing the fob but didn’t find the vehicle.

“I parked—I parked as far away as I could, in case
he
found it and somehow traced it to Lauren. I left it on Waller.”

Christ, that was a brisk ten-minute walk in the sunshine. She’d done it wounded, in a snowstorm. She really did want to protect Lauren. She could easily have not made it, would have fallen and died in the snow, to protect Lauren.

Metal had real respect for courage. This was right up there with anything any SEAL had ever done for his teammates.

She looked down at her hands then back up to him. “It’s the key to an ambulance. I stole it.”

Fuck. One shock after another.

“You…stole it?”

She nodded. “From the hospital. When they took me there, I thought I was safe. When he slashed me at the airport, I got away, hid in the bathroom, hacked into the airport security system and pulled a bomb alert.”

Metal’s jaw dropped. “I heard about that. About a false bomb alert at the airport. That was
you?
”

“Yeah.” She found his hand, curled her fingers around his. “I didn’t know what else to do. I was terrified. I managed to get away from him after he cut me. I, um, I stole a baby blanket to staunch the bleeding but I was losing blood and I felt faint and I knew he would eventually find me. I looked around for guards or a cop but couldn’t find one. So I made it to the bathroom, went into a stall, hacked into the airport’s system and called in a bomb alert.”

“Fuck,” Metal breathed. Damned if that wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever heard of. Then he realized what he’d said. “Sorry.”

Jesus. That was quick thinking. And really fast hacking. It would have taken him a full day to get into the security system of a major airport. If he even could. He was okay with computers but not more than that. “That was…amazing. What did you do then?”

“I, um, hacked into the emergency service of the airport and told the ambulances to come to the arrivals area. The guy was at the center exit, looking for me as the passengers were panicking and trying to push their way through. The first ambulance that came, I showed him the wound and they loaded me onto a gurney and went to Portland Memorial. I had to abandon my carry-on. God knows where it is now, but I keep my essentials in my computer backpack. ID, money, credit cards, cell. I was in shock at the hospital. I didn’t know whether to call Lauren or not. I pulled my backpack up to get to my cell when—when I saw him.”

Metal nodded. “You insisted that we shouldn’t take you to a hospital. Now I see why. You thought he might be there. So, Sherlock, or maybe Houdini. How did you escape the second time?”

She flushed slightly, a small smile on her lips. The flush was like watching a flower bloom, like watching dawn in the mountains. He wasn’t a fanciful man at all but those were the only things he could compare it to.

“I thought I was safe at the hospital. But he arrived and I—” She hesitated, shuddered. “I pulled the sheet over my head and pretended to be dead. After he left, I stole an ambulance.”

This time his jaw didn’t drop because he got it that she was supersmart and resourceful, but still, he was surprised. “You pretended you were dead and then took an ambulance?”

“It was close by the exit and the guy left the key in.” She looked at him out of sky-blue eyes. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. “But I didn’t have a choice.”

Metal picked up her hand and leaned forward. This beat anything they’d been taught in SERE school. Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape. She’d done it all, superbly well, with no training.

“And you left it on Waller?”

“Yes. I would have left it farther away but I didn’t think I’d make it.”

“No,” Metal said soberly. “You wouldn’t have. You’d have fallen in the snow and died of hypothermia.”

“That’s, um, that’s what I thought.”

“You did what you had to do to survive. Nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all.” He pulled out his cell, dialed Jacko without taking his eyes off her. “Yo. Felicity escaped her attacker from the hospital. She…requisitioned an ambulance. They’re probably looking for it. Park it near the hospital. And wipe it down. It’s on Waller. Yeah, I know exactly how far that is from Lauren’s. She parked far away to keep trouble from her friend. And she walked four blocks in the snow, wounded. I swear she was a SEAL in a former life.”

A blush appeared over her cheeks and her lips turned up. Damn, she was beautiful when she smiled. Hell, even when she didn’t smile.

“Uh-huh.” He held the phone out to her. “Lauren’s hopping up and down. Want to talk to her?”

“Oh yes, please!” She held out her hand and he placed the cell in it.

He could hear an agitated female voice but he couldn’t make out what Lauren was saying, though he could imagine it.

“Yes,” Felicity said. “No. Just a little weak.” She met his eyes. “Um, yeah, Metal has taken very good care of me. Yes, a little. Oh God, yes. Can’t wait!”

She handed him back the cell. “Lauren and Jacko are coming over. Is that okay?”

“Sure. But he’ll take care of the ambulance first.”

Felicity smiled briefly back, then chewed her lip. “Am I going to be in trouble for stealing it? And—God! For sounding that bomb alert? I’m sure that’s a federal offense.”

“Don’t even think of that.” He’d make goddamned sure of it. She’d been fighting for her life. He had friends in Portland PD. No one was going to touch her, guaranteed. “Not a problem. The problem now is to figure out who’s after you. We can start when you feel better.”

“No,” she said, beautiful face suddenly stony. “We start now. That attack was out of the blue and it could happen again at any moment.” The effect of being safe, of the tea and bread, and of talking to Lauren, was wearing off. She’d lost color in her face, her eyes drooped. She was exhausted and scared but she wanted to attack her problem anyway.

Damn. Just like a SEAL, only gorgeous and female.

She had a very pretty, slighty pointed chin and he was absolutely certain that chin spelled stubbornness. But she was also kindhearted. So he took the whole thing on himself.

“Listen,” he said, scooting closer. “We’re definitely going after the guy, but I’d feel much better if Jacko was here. Do you mind waiting for him to arrive so we’re all on the same page?”

Metal could tackle this himself, but he’d just given her an out. She needed more rest.

“Okay.” She stifled a big yawn behind a small fist. “Sure.”

“In the meantime maybe you should rest.”

She wasn’t saying anything but she was in pain. His admiration went up another notch. Suck it up.
Embrace
the suck. SEAL life mottos.

“Thank you,” she whispered and he nodded. He didn’t want thanks, he wanted the fucker who’d slashed her. Badly. Her eyes searched his. “Why are you doing this for me? I can understand Lauren and maybe Jacko because he’s with her. But why are you helping me?”

Metal took a minute. He wasn’t good with words. Put a rifle in his hand, give him a lung-shot teammate and he knew exactly what to do. But this? It was hard to put into words because he surprised himself with the depth of his feelings.

Since she’d stumbled into Lauren’s house, white-faced and bleeding, he knew he had to take care of her. No other options. But he couldn’t say that. It would scare the shit out of her and confuse her. So he said part of the truth.

“Okay, here’s the deal.” He took her hand in his again, scooted his chair closer. “I hate this. I cannot tell you how much I hate this. I don’t know what this fu—guy wanted—”

“You can say fucker,” she said quietly, a faint smile on her face.

“I say it a lot,” Metal warned.

Her smile grew wider. “That’s okay.”

He gave a brisk nod. “So, whatever this fucker wanted, he was more than willing to hurt you to get it. I know you’re really smart. Lauren says so and you thought your way out of a very dangerous situation like you’d been trained for it. But though you’re smart, you’re not physically strong and violence isn’t your thing. And I hate that this fucker thought he was going to win and I hate even more the fact that he’s out there looking for you. This is exactly what’s wrong with the world. The strong using their strength to hurt. If there’s anything in my life I want, it’s to stop that. And this guy is going to get stopped.”

It was probably the longest speech he’d made in years and he hadn’t even touched on the heart of it.

Metal was born strong. He was always the biggest in his class and his father and brothers taught him self-defense from when he was a toddler. He’d never been bullied but he’d stopped a lot of bullying.

That’s what the O’Briens were all about. Generations of them—siblings, father, grandfather and great-grandfather just off the boat from Ireland. Generations of big, strapping O’Briens, all firefighters and cops. Guys who protected, guys who made a difference, guys who
helped
.

Guys who were there on that terrible day in September in New York, all rushing
into
the burning buildings and never coming back out. Father and four brothers, all gone in the space of a couple of hours. His mother died a week later of a broken heart. After burying his entire family, eighteen-year-old Metal, who’d been thinking of breaking with the firefighter-cop tradition and going to med school, enrolled in the Navy, intent on becoming a SEAL. And he’d done it.

He wasn’t a SEAL anymore. He had almost more metal in his body than bone. But by God he still had his SEAL heart and his SEAL skills and no one was getting near Felicity again.

Unless it was him.

That spurted up out of nowhere and he repressed it, hard.

“We’re going to stop him.”

She listened to him so carefully, taking in his words through her ears but also her eyes and maybe even through the hand he was holding.

Her eyes were amazing but more than their beauty, they were alive. It was as if she operated at a higher level than other people, vibrated to a faster vibe, like a hummingbird.

“This feels familiar.” She clenched her fingers around his. “You held my hand all night, didn’t you?”

Metal blinked. “Yeah.” Was she angry? “I’m sorry, I—”

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “It helped.”

He nodded. No way he was going to say that it helped him more than it helped her. He knew intellectually that she wasn’t in danger of dying. She’d suffered blood loss but had been transfused. Other than that, once the gash was stitched up and she was taking antibiotics, she was fine.

But Metal had had men, good men, die in his arms, even while he was working frantically to save them. He never let down his vigilance. If she had had any problems during the night, he was right there. And holding her hand, feeling it warm up in his, reassured him on the deepest level there was.

“What’s your name?” Her head cocked to one side, eyes half-closed. “You saved my life, you held my hand, I’m in your bed and I don’t know your name.”

She was toppling. He answered as he eased her back down with a hand cupping the back of her head.

“Sean Aiden O’Brien. But most people call me Metal. And yours?”

“Metal,” she murmured sleepily. “Nice to meet you. I’m Felicity. Felicity Ward. That’s my name—for now.”

A minute later she was fast asleep again.

Chapter Five

Washington, DC

Borodin had new intel that brought him to Washington.

Roy Gregory, in exchange for another infusion of cash, had dug farther into the files and uncovered the interesting information that Felicity Ward had a mentor inside the FBI. He’d originally handled the Darin family before handing them over to the U.S. Marshals Service and had kept in touch with the family over the years. Al Goodkind, now retired, living in Alexandria, Virginia. A product of the Cold War, he even spoke some Russian. Or at least he had a minor in Russian Studies and a major in Law from Georgetown University.

Gregory discovered that it was Goodkind who had put Felicity Ward’s name forward as a freelance consultant.

Other information—Goodkind lived in a residential area of Alexandria, in a house with a large lawn. Neighbors at least a hundred meters away. He was a widower, no children, lived alone. He was a former FBI agent, it was true, and could be presumed to be armed. But he was also seventy-five years old. Gregory included the latest medical report from his FBI-appointed doctor and Goodkind wasn’t in good health. He had high blood pressure, incipient diabetes and had had prostrate cancer seven years ago.

He wasn’t going to live much longer anyway.

It was time to pay Goodkind a call.

If Lagoshin was fucking this up, Borodin would have to unfuck it. Find Felicity Ward via a lateral route. Via her affection for Al Goodkind.

Borodin himself could take care of Goodkind. He was still strong enough to take on a sick old man. But that was one of the many advantages of being rich—never having to get your hands dirty. Borodin had his two pilots with him and they could grab the old man. His pilots were all ex-military and knew their way around weapons and hand-to-hand combat. On trips, his pilots often doubled as bodyguards. Borodin trusted them. His current pilots, Yevgeny Milekhin and Lev Zolin, had saved his life in Uzbekhistan on an inspection of a gas pipeline.

Borodin checked out of the hotel. His time in New York was over.

Zolin picked him up in a rented town car and drove him out to the private aviation sector of JFK. Zolin and Milekhin had been sleeping in the airplane, which was perfectly comfortable. They’d certainly slept in worse places. Having the pilots in the plane insured that they would be ready for takeoff at any moment.

By the time Borodin arrived at the plane, a flight plan to Washington, DC had been filed, the planed was fully fueled and they took off fifteen minutes after he boarded. The plane was registered to a shell company headquartered in Aruba and could never be traced back to Intergaz.

They were ghosts.

That’s what money did. Made you invisible, nearly untouchable.

Another town car met them at Ronald Reagan National Airport, rented by one William Novella, whose cloned credit card Borodin had bought on the black market. He had about a hundred of them with him. In the parking lot, Zolin switched plates with another car. The car would take Borodin into Alexandria. Zolin drove and Milekhin waited with the plane.

The weather was overcast and cold. The forecast was for snow. Apparently it was snowing in Portland, their next stop. Borodin laughed when he watched the weather reports from anchors breathlessly announcing ‘heavy snowfalls’ and subzero temperatures.

What would these weaklings do in Siberia, where a snowstorm could dump 160 centimeters in twenty-four hours, where temperatures in winter dropped to minus twenty-five degrees Celsius, where kids played ‘snow bomb’—throwing a bottle of boiling water in the air and watching it freeze before it hit the ground?

He and his men could move around just fine in the cold.

Finding Al Goodkind’s house with GPS was easy. By the time they made it to his neighborhood light was draining from the sky. It was a quiet neighborhood, very few people were about. Alexandria was where apparatchiks went to die. Men and women who had spent a lifetime in service to their government. You’d think a lifetime in government would be enough to induce paranoia, but no. The homes were separated by large open lawns and there were no fences.

In Moscow, former KGB functionaries—those that lived long enough to retire—resided in gated communities with twelve-foot walls and barbed wire because they’d made enemies. No one was foolish enough to live like these people.

They passed by Goodkind’s home four times, twice from the east and twice from the west. They daren’t risk any more pass-bys. The house was dark.

“What do we do?” Zolin asked.

This was their only lead. “We wait,” Borodin said.