Thrill Ride (25 page)

“I know I will,” he nodded, grabbing his hat brim and yanking it around until it faced forward. “I’ve been studyin’ all the information we found on her, and besides havin’ a pretty substantial God complex, the woman seems obsessed with the notion of beating the bad guys, of doin’ good and leavin’ her mark on the world. When I confront her with the true evil of what she’s done, she’s gonna wanna defend herself. Pretty vociferously, I would imagine. Still…” he cocked his head, then narrowed his gaze, for all the world looking like he could see inside of her, “I don’t think that’s really why you came up here, now is it?”

And, holy crap! He wasn’t just mucking around in Donna Ward’s head; he was mucking around in Vanessa’s as well. How did he
do
that?

And until he called her on it, she hadn’t really been aware the true reason she sought him out was because
she
needed a little reassurance. Some sort of sign from him that last night meant something. That regardless of what he claimed, there
was
something more between them than a big, heaping helping of red-hot lust.

“A-about last night…” she began hesitantly.

“What about it?” he asked, and for the first time in her life she couldn’t read what emotion lay behind his tone. Probably because his voice was flat. Flat like a pancake, flat like a fritter. Flat, flat,
flat
.

And now her heart was threatening to come crashing out of her chest for a whole new reason, because she could think of only one explanation for the lack of inflection.

Don’t!
she wanted to scream at him.
Don’t say it didn’t mean anything to you! Don’t say you weren’t moved!

She opened her mouth to do just that. But,
thankfully
, she was saved from making a colossal ass out of herself, from being dubbed Queen of the Needy Bitches, when Ghost, dressed in a tuxedo and looking very dapper indeed, knocked on the doorjamb.

“Sorry to disturb, folks,” he said, his black eyes taking in the scene, taking in her heated cheeks and Rock’s blank stare.

“
Non
,” Rock shook his head, setting aside his guitar, “it’s okay. Is it time?”

“Yup.” Ghost nodded. “Squeeze into that penguin suit, my friend. We’re about to saddle up.”

“Be down in two,” Rock said, and Ghost nodded before turning away, his black patent-leather shoes making no sound on the hall floor.

“Rock, I—”

“
Chere
,” he cut her off, “now’s not the time for this.”

And, yeah, she knew that, but she just couldn’t help herself. She needed to know what he was feeling, what he was thinking in that stubborn, denial-prone head of his.

“I know, but I—”

“Rock!” This time it was Boss hollering from below who interrupted Vanessa. “Get your ass down here. Time’s wasting!”

One corner of Rock’s goatee lifted as he shook his head. “Becky accuses the man of bellowing like a bull. I think she’s right.”

Watching him push up from the bed, she decided to bite her tongue—for now.

But once this thing was over?

Oh, boy, you better believe she intended to call him on the carpet. She was done being patient and sweet. They were going to settle this thing between them, one way or another…

The
Peninsula
Hotel, Chicago…

Cracking the bathroom window, Donna Ward kicked off her killer pumps—killer as in they
looked
killer, and killer as in they were total foot assassins—before she boosted herself up on the wide, peach-tiled windowsill and fished out the lone cigarette and the tiny BIC lighter she stored in her clutch.

And, yeah, yeah, medical degree or not, she knew she shouldn’t smoke. But nothing soothed her like a long drag on a Marlboro, so she allowed herself this one teeny, tiny vice. Slipping the filtered end between her lips, she glanced at the door, assuring herself she was alone, before flicking the wheel on the lighter. Orange flame shot up, and then?

Heaven…

That first puff, that initial drag was always the best, the smoky taste of tobacco, the little buzz at the back of her head. She inhaled slowly, savoring every second, stretching her neck from side-to-side to work out the kinks.

Marcus
did
well
tonight.

And he’d looked very handsome up there giving his speech, so wholesome and all-American. That’s what had initially attracted her to him all those years ago, that choir-boy face and perfect politician hair. Of course what
kept
her attracted was his ambition and determination to leave his mark on the world.

The only other person she knew who was more driven than herself was Marcus. And she liked to think she’d helped him get to where he was today. Liked to think he’d help her, too, once he made it to the Oval Office. Marcus had believed in the viability and necessity of The Project when she’d written that thesis. And he’d been just as dejected as she’d been when the CIA withdrew the funding for it.

Of course, he’d never approve of her going it alone all these years, but what Marcus didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He’d have been especially furious to find out she’d used some of the funds she’d…
appropriated
—she didn’t care for the word “stolen.” It had a criminal connotation and she was certainly no criminal—in order to fund his campaigns, but Rock’s and Billingsworth’s deaths assured her he’d never find out.

And
yes
, she thought as she took another drag on the cigarette,
it’s terrible it had to come to that. But the lives of those two men when compared to the lives I’ll save once Marcus is in power and reinstates The Project are immaterial. It’s for the greater good.

After her brother’s death, she’d done everything for the greater good. Everything she planned to do in the
future
would be for the greater good. But first, she needed to help get Marcus into office. And without the funds from The Project to bolster his bid for the Party nomination, Marcus needed to shine brighter than ever to in order to drum up financial support. And, as his wife, she needed to shine with him. Which meant she probably shouldn’t get caught smoking in the bathroom like some high school delinquent.

Allowing herself one last, long drag, she held the smoke in her lungs, luxuriating in the sensation, before she blew it out the window. Hopping down from the windowsill, she stubbed the cigarette in the sink and ran cold water over the tip before tossing it in the trash. Frowning, she slipped back into her pumps, checked her hair in the fancy gilt mirror above the long line of sinks, spritzed some Binaca onto her tongue, and turned for the door.

She was in the process of tossing the little tube of breath freshener into her clutch when she pushed into the long hall. Which was probably why she didn’t see the man who stepped up behind her, throwing a baseball glove-sized hand over her mouth.

Adrenaline instantly surged, but before she could fight back, an entire mob of people in eveningwear were rushing her back into the bathroom…

“Move her toward the back of the room,” a deep, smooth voice instructed, a voice she’d recognize anywhere.

Her heart began racing out of control as her eyes searched the group of people in front of her. It appeared as if an entire wall of humanity was pushing her past the row of stalls. She lost her shoe on the travertine tile floor and dropped her handbag as she struggled against the crowd, but there was no breaking away from the flesh and blood vice wrapped around her arms.

And, then…

There he was. Rock Babineaux. Dressed in a slim-cut tuxedo, altogether
too
much alive.

Goddamn
CIA!
They
screw
up
everything!
was her first thought.

They’d screwed up when they stopped funding for The Project. They’d screwed up when they let her go as a result. And now they’d gone and screwed up by not killing Rock.

Of course her second thought obliterated everything before it. Because her second thought had ice water rushing through her veins.

Oh, God, how did he find me?

“Take your hand off her mouth, Boss,” he said, coming to stand in front of her, the people with him fanning out behind him.

Boss…The Black Knights. He was here with the Black Knights…

The ice water in her veins froze solid, and goose bumps pebbled her skin.

The hand that was over her mouth lifted away, but the big arm wrapped around her, holding her in place, remained iron tight.

“You,” she breathed then realized her mistake before she took it too far. Shaking her head, she donned a baffled expression. “Who are all you people?”

“Cut the crap, Rwanda Don,” Rock hissed, leaning forward until their noses were barely an inch apart, until she could see the forest green striations in his pretty hazel eyes.

Rwanda Don…How in the world had he pieced it together? Her stomach climbed up her throat to sit at the back of her mouth.

“Who…” She swallowed loudly, shaking her head, knowing her eyes were big and round. If she could just play dumb until help arrived, she could take some time to regroup, time to figure out how they’d made her, and time to decide the best way to destroy whatever evidence they’d found and discredit the entire lot of them. She had friends in very high places, after all. “Who’s Rwanda…Rwanda Don?”

A look of disgust passed over Rock’s face, and he sighed heavily before settling back onto his heals.

“I guess we’re gonna do this the hard way,
non
?” he said, shaking his head.

“I…I don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” she murmured, feeling a frightened tear slip from the corner of her eye to trail down her cheek.

What was the hard way? She didn’t dare contemplate it…

***

Rock looked at the woman who’d ruined his reputation and tried to have him killed and had a hard time seeing the shadowy Rwanda Don in her. The coiffed, ash-blond hair, the Botox-ed forehead, the demure string of pearls laying against her slightly aging neck all screamed
staid
politician’s wife.
But the look in her eye…?

It was frantic and scared and altogether
knowing
.

She was Rwanda Don all right. Now he just needed to make her admit it.

And he knew just how to go about doing it.

Taking a deep breath, dragging in the scents of industrial cleaner, high-class perfume, and fresh cigarette smoke, he began with, “We’ve read your thesis.”

“Wh-what?” she asked, pulling off the whole timid, middle-aged woman shtick with aplomb. Which was probably because, despite the psychology degree, the famous husband, and the super-secret spy life, the fact remained she
was
just a timid, middle-aged woman.

A timid, middle-aged woman who suffered from a God complex and more than a little bit of crazy. And she was no match for a man with his training and ability.

“The one outlinin’ the jobs of Investigator, Interrogator, and…” he snapped his fingers, the signal for Dunn to step from the back of the group. This was the first part of his strategy. “…Cleaner.”

Her gaze flickered when Dunn came to stand beside him, her nostrils flaring slightly.

Oui,
you
know
exactly
who
he
is
.

“That’s supposed to be classified information,” she whispered, cornflower-blue eyes big and watery. “I don’t know who you are, or how you came about—”

“You know exactly who we are, Rwanda Don,” Rock interrupted. “Rwanda Don…Hmm, you weren’t very smart about choosin’ that code name were you? Donna Ward, Rwanda Don…a boring, unintelligent little anagram.”

At this her nostrils
really
flared. And, ah, the second part of his strategy seemed to be working. Her God complex didn’t suffer well under attacks on her mental acumen.

“We also know Fred Billingsworth was killed because, ostensibly, he’d discovered somethin’ unsavory about you, or maybe your husband, or maybe your involvement with a highly illegal operation known as The Project.”

She was working hard to control it, but her breathing was accelerated. To anyone without a trained eye, she still just looked scared and confused. But to him? Pay dirt. He was pushing the right buttons.

The Knights, bless them, were silent and still as apparitions behind him. Creating a wall of support for him and a wall of opposition for Donna Ward.

“But it doesn’t really matter
why
Billingsworth was killed,” he continued. “All we need to know now is who you were working for. Because even though you may have orchestrated Billingsworth’s death to cover up some sort of scandal on you or your husband’s part, your boss has to have decided to go to bat for you since the instant you pointed the CIA toward my PO box,” and he really wished he’d thrown those files away or else been far more careful to make sure no one ever followed him when he made a deposit in said PO box, “and the instant my Burn and Delete notice came over the wires, The Project was finished.”

Her eyes flickered again. The skin of her cheeks tightening. And for a second he was confused. What was…?

There was something there. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted, her voice shaking. He had to fight not to roll his eyes. “Yes, I wrote that thesis. But I have no idea about the rest of it.”

“Ozzie,” he interrupted, and the kid stepped forward. “Will you read from the document containing the specifics of Rwanda Don’s,” continuing to use her code name was the third step in his strategy, “dismissal from the CIA.”

And hadn’t that little bit of intel been a punch in the gut? He’d been recruited by the CIA, trained by the CIA, but who the hell had been running his operations all these years? Who the hell had tapped Donna Ward after The Company axed her? And who the hell had burned him? The NSA?

“Dr. Donna Ward,” the kid read aloud from the dossier in his hand, and Rock watched Dr. Ward’s eyes flick down to the stack of papers, “is hereby terminated by the Central Intelligence Agency for conduct unbecoming. Her ideas and theories are considered subversive and destructive. She has no respect for the authority of this institution and is therefore deemed unfit for continued employment. Her security clearances, from this day forth, are terminated. She is to be considered—”

“That’s enough,” Rock cut in, catching the slight color change in Donna Ward’s cheeks. Her blood pressure was rising. Getting sacked from The Company really burned her. “So we know you’re no longer with the CIA. They were too smart to keep you on. They knew you were a loose cannon.” Poke, poke, poke. Just like he’d been taught. “But, that begs the question, who
are
you workin’ for now? NSA? Who’s crazy enough to employ you and—”

He saw her break right before she strained against Boss’s arm, saw the look on her face morph from doe-eyed innocence to an unattractive snarl. “What makes you think I
need
the government’s help?” she hissed, veins standing out in her neck, eyes bulging. “After those idiots at the CIA rescinded funding for The Project and terminated my employment, I just kept at it on my own, running the operations myself. I did it all myself! And it was good work! Those men needed to die. They were filth! They were—”

She was screaming now, and Rock looked up at Boss, nodding. The big guy slapped a wide palm over her mouth as she continued to try to spew her insanity. But other than her muffled curses, the bathroom was dead silent.

No one moved; no one spoke. Everybody was stunned by the bomb she’d dropped.

So…he hadn’t been doing ultra-black work for an ultra-clandestine branch of the government.
Non.
He’d been operating on the orders—kidnapping and interrogating American citizens—of a crazy civilian psychologist. Which meant he was exactly what they’d accused him of being…a rogue operator. The only difference was he’d been duped into the role.

Mon
dieu.
He couldn’t breathe; the bathroom was spinning. But then he felt a reassuring hand at the small of his back, Vanessa, and he knew he had to pull his shit together. Now there were more questions that needed answers.

Swallowing, his mind racing, he asked, “Who did you get your information on these men from? You couldn’t have come upon their files on your own.”

Boss lifted a brow, and he nodded, giving the big guy permission to remove his hand from her mouth.

“Not everybody within The Company thought my ideas were subversive and destructive,” Donna Ward whispered, all the fight having suddenly drained from her body. She was caught; she knew it. So now was the time to play to her second weakness, the fact that she thought her actions righteous and just.

“You had an accomplice?”

“I like to call him a partner,” she said.

“Was he the one who took that shot at me down in Costa Rica?” he asked, feeling the weight of the consequences he was going to face for having been a part of her crazy scheme pressing down on his shoulders. But he’d deal with that later. For now, he needed to get all the information from her he could.

“No,” she shook her head. “That would be the hit man he hired. But it was for the greater good, Rock.” She looked at him imploringly, and it appeared her delusions knew no bounds. “Can’t you see that? I needed to clean house, tie up loose ends so The Project had a chance of going on some day. Surely you can understand how badly we need to keep fighting, keep taking out those animals.” She shook her head, another tear slipping from her wide eyes to roll down her cheek. “If only Billingsworth hadn’t started asking me questions about the money, and if you hadn’t started asking questions about Billingsworth, none of this would’ve happened.”