Thrill Ride (14 page)

“Oh, Rock,” she gasped, stroking him so expertly it took everything he had not lose it right then and there. In fact, he needed to make this thing happen. Now.

He found the hard, slippery knot of nerves at the top of her sex with the pad of his thumb. Rubbing it gently from side-to-side, he worked his fingers, pumping quickly.

“Rock, Rock…” His name became a chant she whispered over and over against his lips and then…

Sweet Lord in heaven, she came.

With one long cry of triumph, she clamped down on his fingers, sucked his tongue into her mouth, and moved against his hand with the kind of wild abandon every man dreams of. Rocking her hips, her inner muscles spasming, hard at first, and then more softly, she rode out her orgasm. And all the while her hand was still working on his raging cock, sliding, stroking, spreading his own wetness down the length of him until it felt so good he knew he had to stop her.

With his free hand, he grabbed her wrist, but she refused to let go, refused to stop that maddening stroking. Pulling back on a strangled gasp, he found her watching him, a dark, feminine knowledge glowing in the depths of her eyes.

“S-stop.” That’s what he said with his mouth, but his body demanded more, more,
more.
Evidenced by the fact that his pelvis tilted slightly forward, seemingly of its own accord.

“I’ll stop,” she breathed, still working him, still looking up him, the very picture of female provocation, “if you make love to me.”

“N—” For an instant the pleasure was so intense he couldn’t make his vocal cords work. But when he squeezed her wrist, managing to slow her movements, he found it within himself to shake his head. “
Non, chere
. I can’t do that. I
won’t
.”

For a long second, she just watched him and…
oh, Lordy, is she ever somethin’
! With her cheeks all flushed from desire, her lips swollen from his kisses, and her dark eyes half-lidded and lazy from spent passion. Then she seemed to come to some sort of decision, because her expression changed and—

Oh, hell. I know that look!

It was the same one she’d given him when they’d been standing in the middle of that jungle trail back in Monteverde Cloud Forest. And that look was, in a word: determination.

He had a moment to feel a skitter of apprehension slip up his spine, but that was it. Just one, all-too-brief second to try to decide how to best remove her firm grip from his cock without doing himself serious harm, before she leaned up and snagged his lips, licking slowly into his mouth as she did something crazy with her hand. And then he not only forgot that he was supposed to be stopping this thing, he also forgot his own name.

Zut
alors!
He didn’t know what she was doing, some sort of magical twist and tug, but it was the best damn thing he’d ever felt. And before he could try to wrangle his scattered thoughts, before he could pull his wits about him and take back control, she released his lips, only to kiss her way back to his ear and whisper, “Come for me, Rock,” right before she bit down on his earlobe.

His orgasm exploded through him like a landmine, quick and startling and completely debilitating. Colors flashed, sounds echoed, the world around him condensed into a tight ball of sensation, and Vanessa worked at him until she’d wrung every last drop of the pleasure from his body.

And only when he slumped against her, his forehead on her shoulder, his breath sawing out of his lungs like he’d just wrestled an alligator, did it begin to sink in what had happened.

Sonofabitch! This isn’t what I wanted. This isn’t—

“Your thoughts are incredibly loud,” she whispered, placing a series of gentle kisses on the bandage that covered the wound on his neck.

He pulled back to look at her, at the beauty of her face, at the perfection of her small, triumphant smile, and something in him threatened to soften. For a brief moment, he once more found himself wishing things were different. Wishing he’d chosen another path all those years ago when his family died, when Lacy died, and the specter that was The Project and Rwanda Don offered him a chance at another life.

But then an image of his parents’ bodies, bloated and unrecognizable, flashed through his brain, an image of Lacy, looking up at him from her hospital bed with such sadness, skewered through his mind, and his heart hardened once again.

Life was about loss. He’d learned that lesson the hard way. And loving someone only compounded that loss…

So, no. There was no use in wishing things were different. Because even if they were, he’d never be able to give her what she wanted. He’d never be able to let himself love her; he couldn’t suffer that kind of hurt again. And he’d certainly never allow her to fall in love him, to know she’d suffer after his death the way he’d suffered after Lacy’s.

“We need to get goin’,” he grumbled, pulling away from her even though it caused a startling ache to set up shop in the center of his chest. His jaw worked like a stone grinder as he dug in his pack to pull out the last package of antiseptic wipes, handing them to Vanessa so she could clean up as he shoved himself back in his pants, adjusting his knife in its sheath before bending to retrieve his gear belt.

“Rock.” She tilted her head, watching as he stood, her expressive eyes confused, pleading. “I…I don’t understand…”

And,
oui,
why would she? He felt like a giant ass.

“I didn’t want it to go that way,
mon
ange
,” he admitted, buckling the belt in place as he stared down at his jungle boots like this was the first time he’d seen them.

“What? Why?” He glanced up to find her ripping open the pack of wipes with her teeth before putting them to use. A deep blush warmed his cheeks as she cleaned the evidence of his blunder from her hand and the tank of the old dirt bike.

Christ, he’d popped off like a champagne cork at a New Year’s Eve party, and he hadn’t lost control like that in years.

What
a
colossal
goatscrew!

“Because I—” he began, then suddenly stopped.

“Because you what?” she asked, stuffing the used wipes into his pack before passing him his 9mms. “Why didn’t you want it to go that way?”

He shoved the weapons in his waistband, giving himself a moment to try to explain to her. But the moment passed and…

Nada.

He had nothing.

“I just wanted it to be all about you,” he finally said, and one sleek black brow slowly climbed up her forehead. He had the inexplicable desire to lean forward and kiss it.

Non, non, non. Bad idea.
Colossally bad idea. Because he was absolutely certain that one kiss would set them both off again. One kiss and this time they wouldn’t stop at a couple of hand jobs. Hell no. They’d take it all the way to the finish line.

“Well, why in the world would you want that?” she demanded, buttoning her shirt, covering up those exquisite breasts of hers which—
whew!
—allowed him to stop acting like that tree behind her was the most fascinating specimen of plant life on the planet.

“Because I wanted it to be a good memory for you,” he said, watching covertly as she tucked the tail of her shirt into her pants before zipping them up and clicking the snap closed. “Because I wanted you think back on me, on…on this moment, with fondness.”

“And you think me giving you a little reciprocal pleasure would…what? Diminish that somehow?”

No. No, that’s not what he was thinking. But he didn’t dare tell her what he
was
thinking because he was scared to death to admit it fully to himself. In fact, he was very afraid he might be skating precariously close to an epiphany he in no way, shape, or form, wanted to have…

So he simply shook his head and shrugged.

She snorted. “Well, that was just silly of you, wasn’t it? Because in case you haven’t figured it out yet, it’s a point of pride for me to give just as good as I get.”

And,
oh
Lordy
, she wasn’t kidding about that…

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” Becky asked as Eve tightened her seatbelt and started the Land Rover’s engine. The vehicle came to life with a loud rumble that echoed inside the closed garage and inside Eve’s quaking chest.

“I know this city a lot better than you do,” she said, surprised her voice came out as steady as it did considering there was a whole colony of butterflies fluttering around in her stomach, threatening to come crawling up her throat at any minute.

Was she really about to involve herself in a car chase with the CIA?

She adjusted her rearview mirror, caught a glimpse of her reflection, and frowned at the look of wide-eyed terror on her face.

Oh, come on! It’s not like you’re about to engage in a gun battle or anything. You’re just going to drive…fast…with the CIA hot on your tail.
Oh, good gracious…

Okay, and she turned off the internal pep talk since it obviously wasn’t working—typical, really, of most of her internal pep talks…

With a shaky finger, she reached up to press the button on the garage door opener, watching as the contraption ascended inch by excruciating inch. And, yes, there it was. That white van. Just sitting there. And behind those tinted windows, it was filled to the brim with government agents.

Government agents whom she was about to lead on a wild goose chase.

Geez
Louise…

“You sure you can handle this?” Becky pressed, eyeing her bloodless face with concern.

In response, Eve took a deep breath, drank that metaphorical concrete milkshake Boss spoke of, and reached over to yank Becky’s seatbelt tight. “Just hold on to your hat, sister,” she said as she threw the Land Rover into reverse and burned rubber down the driveway.

Once she was on the street, she shifted into drive and took off like a bat out of hell, her tires squealing on the pavement and leaving a thin puff of gray smoke in her wake. The Land Rover’s big engine growled as it shifted through the gears, and Eve took a moment to lament the fact that she’d purchased an automatic. For this little endeavor, a standard would’ve been better, but she’d have to make do with what she had.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, watching the rearview mirror with one eye even as she kept the other on the road. Her vacation house was on a mountainside, and the road leading to it was curvier than a coiled snake. “Can’t you CIA guys see we’re up to no good? Why the heck aren’t you following us?”

“Jesus!” Becky yelped, grabbing the bar above the passenger window as Eve took the next curve on two wheels. “Where the hell did you learn to drive like this?”

“My father sent me to defensive driving class a couple of years ago when I was having problems with that stalker,” she answered through gritted teeth as she wrestled the wheel back to the right, hugging the edge of the road until Becky glanced out her window and down a mountainside so sheer it defined the word vertigo—why the world’s most beautiful views also happened to be the most dangerous, Eve would never know.

Unconsciously, Becky leaned away from the window and toward the middle of the vehicle, as if her puny five-foot-two-inch frame could really affect any change in the vehicle’s trajectory should Eve lose control—which sooo wasn’t going to happen. Eve wasn’t good at much, but she’d taken to driving like a fish to water.

“Defensive driving?” Becky gulped. “This…this is more than d-defensive driving, Eve, this is—Holy shit! Look out!”

A herd of peccaries, Costa Rica’s infamous wild pigs, raced across the roadway, and Eve was forced to slam on the brakes. The Land Rover shuddered and skidded, necessitating her to go against instinct and turn into the slide. But just as her instructor had promised, and just like she’d practiced a million times, the maneuver allowed her to control the vehicle and bring it to a jolting stop a mere foot from the squealing pigs.

“He was an ex-Hollywood stuntman,” she explained, breath sawing from her lungs, heart racing at breakneck speed, even as she tapped an impatient finger, waiting for the nasty-tempered swine to make it across to the opposite side of the street.

“Who?” Becky breathed, foot up on the dashboard to brace herself, both hands now closed in tight fists around the bar above the passenger side window.

“My defensive driving instructor,” Eve explained as the last pig crossed the road—she was certain there was probably a joke in there somewhere. And right at that instant, the white van appeared around the bend behind them.

“They took the bait!” she squealed delightedly and pounded a victorious fist on the steering wheel before stomping on the gas.

“Who the hell
are
you?” Becky demanded as they proceeded to blast down the mountain like a bullet from a gun.

***

“They’re late,” Boss grumbled in the driver’s seat, checking his watch. They were sitting across the street from the green expanse of La Sabana Metropolitan Park where the Inter-American Highway led into downtown San Jose. The smell of tobacco from the nearby smoke shop filled the air coming in through Bill’s open passenger side window, competing with the more pungent aromas of the fish cart on the corner and dozens of car exhausts. But that didn’t distract him from the fact that, according to what Vanessa told them, they should’ve seen her and Rock blazing into town on the back of a dirt bike fifteen minutes ago. Bill already had his cell phone out before Boss finished with, “You need to call and tell your sister, so she can keep those damned spooks away from the house for a little longer.”

“On it,” he said, punching in Becky’s number and listening as his secure connection was made. After the first ring, Becky picked up with, “Holy shit! You’re never gonna believe where I am.”

“Becky—” he tried to interrupt her, but she just talked right over him.

“After one hell of a car chase…By the way, did you know Eve can drive like a Hollywood stuntman?”

“Huh?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she quickly went on. “The important thing is, I think the spooks were clueing-in to what we were doing, making them run after their own tails and all, because they started to back off. And that’s when Eve had a friggin’ epiphany. Guess what she did?” Before he could even open his mouth, his sister sailed ahead. “She decided we could kill two birds with one stone, and that brings me back to where I am. Which is standing in line at a seedy-as-hell sex shop watching Eve purchase a whorehouse’s worth of vibrators.”

“Huh?” Okay, so apparently his vocabulary had shrunk to that one word. And it might have something to do with the fact that his brains had ostensibly turned to mush. Just plain, gray mush. It was the only thing that could account for the fact that none of what Becky had just said made damned bit of sense. Hollywood stuntman? Sex shop?
Eve?

“Oh, shit!” Becky breathed. “They’re coming in the door. I gotta go.”

And that was enough to joggle some sense back into his slushy cerebrum. “Beck—” But she’d already hung up on him. “Goddamnit!” He clenched his fists before once more dialing her number, grumbling to Boss as he listened impatiently to the click and beeps, “I don’t know how you put up with her. She is the most exasperat—”

“Save it,” Boss interjected. “Here they come.”

And, sure enough, when Bill leaned past Boss to glance out the driver’s side window, he spotted Rock and Vanessa barreling toward them on a loud, rusty dirt bike. And, even at a distance, it was easy to see they’d been through hell. From what he could make out, Vanessa’s hair was a wild rat’s nest, and Rock looked like he’d taken a bath in mud, the tattoos on the guy’s bare arms nearly obscured. The only clean part on the Cajun appeared to be his face, and that was fixed with grim determination.

No doubt Rock didn’t like being here in the middle of the city. And Bill couldn’t blame the guy, considering the entire free world was out for his hide. Thumbing off his phone, Bill tucked it back in his hip pocket—he’d have to make that call to his sister a little later, because right now they had to get this party started—and opened the passenger door.

Hopping out, he gave a hand signal to Ghost and Steady parked in the pickup truck behind them before climbing into the bed of the first truck. Once Steady mimicked his maneuver, Bill slapped on the back window, alerting Boss they were ready to go.

And go they did.

Boss hit the gas, shooting through the cross traffic and slamming into the park where Rock had stopped the dirt bike. Steady and Ghost were hot on their back bumper until they crossed the street, then they pulled even and Bill, hanging on to the lip of the truck bed for all he was worth lest he find himself bounced right out, glanced across at the other vehicle to see Steady grinning gleefully. Because he was happy to be seconds away from having Rock back among their ranks, or because the crazy sonofabitch loved it when things got fast and dangerous? Bill didn’t know. Figured it was probably a little of both.

And, then, in a move straight out of the Operators’ Tactical Driving Handbook—if there wasn’t such a thing, there should be—both trucks sandwiched the motorcycle between them, pointing their front ends toward each other to form a V before rocking to stop.

Dust swirled up around them in a brown cloud, and Bill took that to be his cue. He stood up in the bed, his hand on the butt of the pistol tucked in his pants. Not like he’d use it, of course. But there was nothing wrong with a little showmanship.

“Hello, Rock,” he said as the dust—it smelled dry and tasted acrid on his tongue—began to settle. “We’ve missed you, man.”

Rock’s face contorted with betrayal as he glanced over his shoulder at Vanessa. “Get off the bike,” he enunciated slowly, concisely, his deep voice clearly legible even over the growl of the three vehicles’ engines. And it was a good thing Vanessa wasn’t fragile, because that tone, not to mention the I’ll-never-forgive-you-for-this look plastered all over Rock’s face, was enough to shatter the backbone of a lesser woman.

“Rock, I—” Vanessa began, but Rock cut her off when he roared, “Get off the fuckin’ bike, Vanessa!”

She hopped off the rusty motorcycle like it suddenly grew teeth and bit her in the ass, plastering herself up against the bed of Bill’s truck. And then Rock did what they all assumed he would. He torqued the throttle, spun the bike in a tight one-eighty, and took off, head low between the handlebars. Which is when Bill and Steady jumped into action.

Jump being the operative word.

They both planted a foot on the side of their respective truck beds and launched themselves at Rock, yanking the guy backward as the dirt bike shot out from beneath him. From the corner of his eye as the three of them hit the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, Bill saw the motorcycle careen a short distance before slamming into the base of a big tree and toppling to its side.

Sonofa
bitch!
He grunted as Rock managed to land an elbow to the bridge of his nose.

“Get off me!” Rock howled as Bill and Steady worked to gain the upper hand. “You don’t know what you’re gettin’ involved in!”

“We’re getting involved in saving your goddamned life, you crazy, Cajun sonofabitch!” Bill growled just as Rock managed to snake an arm free and clock Steady in the jaw.

“
Pendejo!
” Steady cursed, wrestling to get Rock’s arms secure.

It wasn’t working. The slippery bastard managed to break every hold they momentarily got on him and,
goddamnit
, they were losing him!

“Little help here!” Bill yelled, ragged breaths sawing from his lungs, pulse pounding in his temples due to the mighty struggle. He was relieved when Ghost sprinted around the back of one truck to lend a hand. And it was un-freakin’-believable, but it took all three of them to subdue Rock. Even then, it was still one hell of a fight.

Bill managed to scramble on top of the bucking man, pressing a knee between Rock’s shoulder blades as Ghost struggled to keep Rock’s hands behind his back. Steady whipped out a couple of zip ties and, in a flash, secured the Cajun’s wrists.

“Don’t do this,” Rock begged, heaving, trying to unseat Bill and doing a pretty good job of it. The guy was whip thin, with the physique of an Olympic swimmer, but his appearance was deceiving. Because the ragin’ Cajun was strong as an ox. “You’ll all wind up puttin’ your fool heads in the middle of someone’s crosshairs! Don’t do it! It’s not worth it!” His voice broke, and everything in Bill stilled. Breath, blood, thoughts. Just…full stop. Because, was Rock actually…? “It’s not worth it!” Rock choked again, his voice sounding like he’d sent his vocal chords through a meat grinder.

And, yeah, Bill was pretty sure the guy was sobbing.

Jesus.

A hard lump settled in the middle of his throat, and the ulcer he was so certain he’d finally kicked to the curb acted up and started gnawing on his stomach lining. Because Rock was one of the toughest bastards he’d ever known, with a hard set of emotional calluses built up over the years of bearing witness to the repeated horrors of war, and for him to be openly losing it now…

Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but shit must be really bad.

Worse than any of them imagined.

And it only made it all the more terrible that, in order to keep them safe—and Bill was certain that’s what the deal was—Rock had been determined to go it alone. Was still determined to go it alone if the continued bucking and cursing and screaming was anything to go by, the big, stupid, self-sacrificing prick.

“And putting our fool heads in the middle of someone’s crosshairs would be different from every other day because…?” Steady huffed, and Bill was glad to see he wasn’t the only one sucking air. Wrestling with Rock was tantamount to kickboxing a kangaroo. Steady moved to secure Rock’s kicking feet by sitting on the guy’s calves and lacing together two zip ties.

Rock continued to struggle with everything he had, grunting and wailing and, even though Bill couldn’t understand French, he was pretty sure Rock was begging them not to do this.

“Hurry it up,” Boss called, leaning an arm out the window of the truck. “We’re starting to draw a crowd.”