Ricochet (2 page)

G
rayson entered the well-lit, gleaming mahogany paneled corridor where the cabins were situated. Two men, twenty yards ahead, one in the white crew uniform, the other a salt-and-pepper-haired guy in jeans, dark shirt, a handgun tucked in the small of his back. The
Stone’s Throw
, pirated half a world away, had been fully crewed. Those same people were still on board, but it was unlikely the hapless crew knew anything useful about Stonefish.

Collateral damage was inevitable.

With a silenced pop, Grayson got off one, well-placed shot, hitting the jean-clad man in the back of the neck just beneath his skull. Half his brain splattered on the mahogany paneling in front of him, dropping like a felled oak part-way up the carpeted stairs. Without hesitation, the crewmember broke into a run, disappearing up the stairs, where the rest of Grayson’s team lay in wait. They’d contain him. Done and done.

Using the skeleton key, he systematically checked each cabin, finding the woman in the second to last room, at the far end of the hall from the stairs where the man had disappeared. Long legs, and a shapely, jean-clad ass was all he could see of her. He wasn’t sure if she was dead, passed out, or taking a nap on the floor half under the bed.

Soundlessly crossing the room, Grayson gave her ankle an economical yank, pulling her free of the bed hangings, and hauled her to her feet in one smooth move. Pressing her back against his chest, he palmed her mouth well before the scream he felt vibrating in her chest erupted.

He’d killed women in the line of duty, but he hated doing it. A pop to the back of the skull, like the man out in the corridor, and it would be over. In his line of work he didn’t have time to linger or get soft.

She, however
was
soft. Soft and fragrant and madder than hell as she fought him for all she was worth. But since his arms were banded over hers, and he was holding her tightly against him, she was pretty ineffective. His head jerked back as she tried to head butt him, harmless, except that her blossom-scented, honey-blonde hair, lashed across his cheek.

Grayson’s senses filled with a unique, scent-induced memory, and a struggling woman whose body felt exactly like Hannah’s. His momentary distraction was all she needed to twist out of his hold, and come at him with her full body weight.

Fuckit.

Grayson felt as though he’d just taken a shot to the chest.

He hoped his mind was playing tricks on him, because God only knew he’d had this particular fantasy before. A time or two…or a thousand.

He reached out, grabbing her, and twisted so he landed on top of her on the bed, clamping both slender wrists in one hand over her head. He used his weight to hold her thrashing legs down with his feet bracketing her ankles. Furious blue eyes met his as she bucked beneath him.

Fucking hell. No mistake. “Jesus. Hannah?”

With her streaking blonde hair spread in a wild tangle around her head and shoulders, and her breasts pressed against his chest, she looked more perfect than that girl next door. More heart-stoppingly beautiful now than she’d been on that summer night by the lake where he’d taken her virginity, and only slightly less pissed than when he’d returned home to claim her on the anniversary of their wedding day.

Going deadly still, she stared up at him in shock and horror, big blue eyes wide. “Grayson?” she gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, this nightmare just gets better and better.” She shoved at his shoulders with both hands. When he didn’t budge, she stopped struggling and just lay there, glowering up at him, her soft mouth a flat, angry line.

He considered the two men in the corridor. “Did you come in here alone?”

“Just me and the Chicago Blackhawks.” Tone dry, eyes blazing, she held onto whatever deep emotion she was feeling. A new skill. She used to be an open book. He was the one lousy at communicating. Unless they were in bed, He did just fine communicating there.

He could almost feel her anger lashing out like a sharp cat o’ nine tails ripping into his flesh, his heart, his brain.

Her chest rose, then fell as she sucked in a calming breath. Her eyes were shockingly blue, and as cold as the tundra. The look was unfamiliar to him, and her fear and disdain made something hot and tight clench inside him.

“For God sake, Pumice, I’ve been going to the bathroom by myself since I turned three. I came to take my insulin shot before dinner.” She looked him over, with a scowl. “Why are you dressed like a giant black sperm?”

Her presence in the middle of this clusterfuck was so out of context he had a hard time wrapping his brain around it. “Were you coerced?” he demanded flatly. “Kidnapped?” Experience told him that there wasn’t anything too improbable, too dangerous, too vile, to be a possibility.

“I might ask you the same damn question. Why are you here, Pumice? Because as we both know, you never do anything that isn’t completely self-serving. In that, you and your brother are frigging peas in a pod.”

Because his friends and family didn’t know he worked for T-FLAC, they figured he was some kind of underworld criminal. It killed Gray, but that’s the way it was. He lived with it. And this woman with the soft, sassy mouth whose loving heart had turned to stone between one beat and the next, tied him in knots because he knew, being here, just cemented what she’d thought all along. “Answer the damn question, Hannah.” He kept his voice brusque and all business.

“News flash Grayson Burke. Talk to me in that tone again, and I’ll cut off your balls and feed them to you as a little snack.” He didn’t miss the way the word little was stressed.

He gave her a feral smile. “Hard to do all that when said balls are pressed up tight against you.”

“You have to get up sometime,” she responded sweetly. “I’ll wait.”

“No, as history proves, you
don’t
wait.”

She made an inarticulate sound of anger, and her cheeks flushed. “You decide to follow me halfway around the world to attack me, so you can discuss old news? Worse. Imply that
I
was in the wrong? Go to hell, Gray, just go to hell.”

“Answer the damn question. What are you doing here, Hannah?” Grayson repeated grimly. Through his comm he could hear his men gathering outside the salon, ready to burst in. He should be up there with them.

She returned his frown, not looking any happier than he was. Soft breasts pressed against his chest as she sighed. “Colton’s upstairs.”

“Christ.”

Of
course
his brother was involved in this goatfuck. Hannah was always bailing him out of some damned mess.

She didn’t move, but the suppressed fury in her voice was like a third party in the room with them. “Get off. You’re hurting me.”

“If I wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t be speaking right now.” Gray inhaled her light citrusy perfume, which still affected him the way it always had. That perfume, and his reaction to her, hadn’t changed. At least he was consistent.

This dainty, five-foot-four, feisty fairy of a woman was his Achilles Heel. Always had, always would. Her pulse throbbed hard beneath the manacle of his fingers around her wrists. He wanted to touch more than her bare wrists.

One thousand and ninety five days since he’d held her. Dear God, smelling the achingly familiar scent of her skin took his breath. His eyes burned as the ache grew. Smelling her hair, touching her silky skin, seeing her again, after fantasizing, scared the crap out of him. The reality made the memories pale into insignificance.

Despite the dangerous situation, his dick pushed painfully hard against the confining LockOut, and his heart thudded heavily against his rib cage. Hard enough that she must feel it too.

He had to go back to work, he knew he did, but his entire world focused down to the woman beneath him. She had an incredible mouth, soft and beautifully shaped, he remembered how those lips felt all over his body.

Her breath caught, and a tremor rippled through her as she read his intentions quite clearly. “Oh, no you don’t! I’m warning you, Pumice. . . “ She braced herself. eyes, the vivid blue of forget-me-nots, flashed dangerously.

He studied her generous mouth. The dark length of her eyelashes. The soft, petal-pink of her cheeks. His memory hadn’t done her justice. Everything about Hannah was delicate, her slender body, the slim column of her neck, her graceful hands. But there was nothing fragile about her inner strength. She could be stubborn and intractable if she believed she was right, and he knew this encounter could sway either way. After her initial surprise, like a nanosecond after- she was mad as hell.

Still. But when her eyes darkened – like
that
, and her pink tongue made a sexy swipe, he knew he’d won half the battle.

“Do
not
do it!” she warned in a dire voice.

Her warm, intensely female scent, with just a hint of orange blossom, rose up to meet him from the velvety V between the collars of her plain white shirt. He wanted to drink in the smell. Bottle it to save for later. Heart pounding with anticipation, he lowered his head the last inch, covered her mouth with his, brushing her soft lips. Once. Twice.

He made a low sound of desire and need. “This?” he whispered, cupping her flushed cheek in one hand, while holding her wrists firmly over her head with the other. He lowered his mouth over hers, trailing his fingertips over her cheekbone, reacquainting himself with her the feel of her. So soft. Silky. Inhaling deeply, he breathed in the intoxicating scent of the citrus blend soap she’d been using for years.

To Grayson, Hannah epitomized everything good. Everything clean. Every joy and every hope. She’d always been a part of his life. A part of him.

His fingers spread at the base of her throat where her pulse jumped unevenly. His body’s visceral response to the mere brushing of their lips was way out of proportion. Hunger, simmering just under the surface for years, erupted in a hot blast of lust impossible to contain.

She attempted to clamp her lips closed against the invasion of his marauding tongue, but Gray wasn’t playing fair. He knew that stroking the back of her neck made her melt, knew how to angle his head, so that their mouths seemed to function like parts of a whole. She let him in, her slick tongue dueling with his, hungry for him, just as she’d always been. God. He reveled in her taste—sunshine, love, promise- intensified as he lost himself in her moist, yielding mouth.

Wanting her so bad, he couldn’t think straight and he closed his eyes, giving in the driving, need. Tangling his fingers in the silky, fragrant strands of her hair he drove the kiss hotter, deeper.

With the cool silk of her hair brushing his wrist, he cupped the back of her head, angled her head, nipped at her lips. Stroked her tongue with his until her breath hitched and he felt the rapid pulse throbbing behind her ear. Her scent became her taste, oranges, a slick mix of erotic, heady textures

She fought the restraint of his grip, but Gray didn’t let go, even when she growled her annoyance deep in her chest. He felt her hand fist, open, fist again in the manacle of his fingers as she fed off the kiss.

He stroked his open palm down the arching cords of her throat as Hannah sank into the kiss. Shifting his upper body to gain better access, he trailed his hand over the smooth skin beneath the V of her shirt to find her breasts. Sliding his fingers beneath the thin satin of her bra, he cupped one breast as his heart beat triple time at the warm, and familiar weight. Skimming his thumb over her hard nipple, something inside him uncoiled at her automatic response.

His chest ached. His brain ached. His balls fucking ached. He thought he’d never be here again. Been sure of it. Each hard, painful throb of his heart echoed her name.
Hannah. Hannah. Hannah
.

The reality far surpassed the fantasy as he grazed her lips with his teeth, before sweeping inside to explore the hot wet cavern.

She bit his tongue.
Hard
.

“D
amn. That hurt!” Gray lifted his head, reluctantly disengaging from the kiss.

Hannah dragged in a deep, shuddering breath. “It was supposed to.” She gave him a furious look. Eyes dilated and glittering, she didn’t move so much as a muscle, although he knew she wanted to pummel the crap out of him and buck him off her. Preferably into the South Pacific Ocean.

The stain of hot pink flushing her cheeks made her eyes look bluer, more intense. “Get your damned hand off my boob, Pumice. I mean it.”

Yeah. He saw that she did. Reluctantly he uncurled his fingers, so happy where they were with the hard peak of her nipple pressing against his palm. He took his time. But he couldn’t make a grope last forever.

“You bastard.” Hannah thumped his back with both fists. It hadn’t taken long to piss her off enough or for her to forget restraint. “That was a lousy thing to do.”

He wanted her to fight him. Just so he could restrain her and steal another kiss. But Hannah knew him just as well as he knew her. She wasn’t going to give him that opening. He gave her the smile he knew annoyed her. “You loved it.”

“Which is why it was a lousy thing to do. I have no desire to be kissed by you. Ever. I won’t wrestle you, but get the hell off me. We can’t lie like this all night, and you don’t have the element of surprise to sneak another kiss. Get the hell off me.”

Reluctantly Gray rolled off and on his feet, then pulled her up before she could protest him touching her. The brief contact flooded his brain with images of the two of them entwined, of her under him, eyes liquid with love, soft skin flushed and damp from their lovemaking. Of Hannah straddling his hips, her cool blonde hair a private silken cave sheltering them and their love. Her slender hands, so delicate and talented on the strings of a cello, touching every part of his body.

In the darkest nights, when missing Hannah had been an intense, unbearable, painful ache, he would relive the brush of her fingers, followed by the soft skim of her lips all over his body.

Yanking her hand free she glared at him.

As much as he wanted to hash out the past, fix it, now was not the time, and definitely not the place. Gray rubbed his fist over the deep ache in his chest. Would there ever be a time and place? “There isn’t time for niceties, Tink, cut to the chase. What’s GQ involved in now?”

“You have the gall to ask me that? Or anything else for that matter, when the last thing you said to me, was, ‘See you next week, Tink.’ That was three years ago.”

“I came.” He’d left the hospital AMA the moment he could stand for longer than thirty seconds without passing out, the ring box in his pocket. Then he’d seen her kissing some guy at the store as if she was mining for his goddamned tonsils. His mother had casually mentioned at dinner that night that Hannah had found a wonderful boyfriend.

The pain in his chest had been so excruciating, he hadn’t felt his stitches tearing. He’d left the house before Hannah came home next door, and before he made a fool of himself, and because he couldn’t hide the spread of blood on his shirt.

Fuck it. The image of Hannah lifting a wedding veil for her husband’s kiss made him want to punch the wall. Since he was already fucked, he’d gone back to work.

“You missed your own damn wedding. Without a call. A note. A damn carrier pigeon!” she said, voice flat, eyes cold.

“You refused to talk to me.”

“A year late? Did you really think you could just show up like that, out of the blue, and I’d
want
to listen to anything you had to say? I’d moved on Gray. I was-
am
- done with you. I really am.”

None of them had forgiven him, and Hannah, after a disgusted look, had refused any communications.

Just because he understood the pain he’d caused her, understood seeing him again was reconstituting that pain, didn’t mean it hurt him any less.

He’d cut off his left ball not to hurt her. Brushing a strand of her pale hair out of eyes shooting death rays up at him. Seeing that unfamiliar look made his chest feet exactly the way it did when a bullet struck his LockOut. Dull, throbbing fucking pain. “You hair’s shorter.”

“You’re joking, right?” Slapping his hand away, she shot him a disbelieving look. “You’re in the wrong place, at the wrong damned time, and you want to talk about my hair? You’ve come to steal the frigging diamonds, haven’t you? Damn it, Grayson. I’m out of the rescuing business. All I came to do is get Colton’s share back. Whatever you’re here to do, whatever your brother is involved in, count me out.”

Grayson had no damned idea what diamonds she was talking about. His mind went there. Diamonds to pay for the weapons on order for the coup? Jesus. Getting their hands on the money would certainly delay Stonefish’s plans. Long enough to expose where he was?

“Go ahead and steal the rest, but Colton’s share belongs to
me
, and I’m not leaving without them.”

He made a frustrated, inarticulate sound. “Christ, for once can’t you just take my word for it—I’m the good guy, Tink.”

“When did that happen?” she asked sarcastically. “Were you rehabilitated during your incarceration?”

His jaw clenched. “I’ve never been in jail.” Not jail. But he’d been held prisoner for a few months in a hellhole, where all that had sustained him were his fist, his imagination memories of Hannah.

He’d been captured by the very man he was trying to capture. Just a month before he was supposed to return to marry her. Tortured, and held for three months, then rescued by a T-FLAC exfil team. Hospitalized, it had taken another six months before he was capable of checking himself out of the hospital, and onto a plane.

Too fucking late.

Her blue glare was molten. “I’ll call your parole officer to confirm that.”

Grayson had spent half his life bailing his younger brother out of one scrape after another, years lusting after his brother’s best friend, and now his teeth clenched so hard he was sure the enamel was cracking.

“I didn’t even know Colton was involved. I’m not here for
either
of you, believe me.” Jesus fuck. Every time his brother got some wild investment, harebrained opportunity, he went to the Moms and used good looks and charm to con them out of a huge sum. They’d finally stopped enabling him and told him no more. So much for that vow. “How much did he take this time?”

“All of it,” she said bitterly. “He used his Power of Attorney to access- None of your damn business. I’m dealing with him. I can’t image you’d care enough to follow me here.”

“If I’d known you weren’t safely at home in Chicago minding the store, or had an inkling where you were, hell yes, I would have. However, I had no idea either of you were here. And I wish to hell you weren’t.” In fact, he wished them both a thousand miles away.

“Sorry to inconvenience you.”

A muscle in his jaw jerked, as, beyond the closed door, he heard the faint pops of gunfire. “You have no idea.”

Gray knew what was going on all around them. Anyone coming between his men and the three principals, was being eliminated. The body count would be high. Shit. What a clusterfuck.

His men were talking in shorthand in his ear. He should be up on deck with them, securing the prisoners for transportation. But with their communication, he also heard gunshots, running feet, shouts. Since he dared not risk leaving Hannah anywhere onboard unattended while he did his thing, his only choice was to stay glued to her side until he could get her- and GQ- onto one of the waiting trawlers.

He activated his comm. “Let me know when everyone’s secure. I have the woman with me. My idiotic brother is here, too. Tall, blond. Looks like a movie star. Colton. Don’t scuff up his designer outfit. Bring him downstairs. Second cabin on the left.”

“The
woman
?” Hannah gave him a hostile look, as he disconnected. “Lovely. So you’re not alone in this little venture, you brought thugs? Are you going to te-“

He pressed a finger to her soft lips to silence her as his headset beeped discreetly in his ear. “Package secure.” Grazioso told him. “On our way.”

Her expression tightened and she slapped his hand away from her face.

“Sit-rep?” Keeping an eye on her, Gray listened to his teams as they reported in. They had everyone in the salon, ready for departure. “Take the packages and start processing. I’ll be right behind you.”

While he talked, Hannah dropped to her knees, giving him a nice view of her jean-clad ass as she foraged under the bed, then rose to stand several feet further away, her insulin pen in her hand. A timely reminder of just how damned inconvenient—how fucking dangerous—this situation had become. Not just for a civilian, but this delicate, beautiful, sprite of a civilian. Hannah had type one diabetes.

How many insulin pens did she have with her? She was nothing if not practical. If she’d expected to be here for a day or two, she would’ve brought enough for two weeks. Or had this little voyage to nowhere been a surprise? In which case, not enough. “How much insulin did you bring with you?”

“Enough,” she told him flatly. Her snapping eyes said ‘what I do, and how I do it, are none of your fucking business.’

She wasn’t his to worry about. His stomach knotted. He had to let it go.

“Does what you’re doing here have anything to do with Colton’s new business partners? Because, just so you know, they insisted that he and the other two guys pay their share in loose diamonds. Which just adds another layer of wtf to this whole situation.”

What the fuck was about right. “Diamonds can’t be traced. Or not easily anyway. And at that, the trail would lead to my idiotic brother and the other two morons who fell for this elaborate scam. These aren’t businessmen, and trust me, there’s no investment other than a dozen rocket launchers, crates of South African Amscor BXP submachine guns, and PPS43′s from Russia. These guys are Abadinista National Liberation Front, and they’re about to stage a coup that, if not stopped, will change the face of South America forever.”

“Terrorists, Hannah,” he said, voice stone cold. “The diamonds are to fund a massive arms deal the ANLF have brokered, and the weapons they’ve been amassing for six months.”

“They told Colton they’re building a fancy resort on a private island.” She chewed her lower lip, mulling over what he’d said. Grayson could practically hear the gears in her brain clacking.

“While I’ve already stated my disapproval—vehemently—the model of the complex is upstairs in the salon,” she admitted coolly, chin up, eyes not quite so sure. “As much as I don’t like or trust them, I have to admit from what I’ve seen of the plans, their complex resort looks spectacular. Maybe this time GQ will surprise us all.”

Grayson cocked a disbelieving brow. “Jesus, Hannah. Did you drink the Kool-Aid?”