Undercover Elite (Undercover Elite Book 2) (30 page)

Windy

A yelp pulls me from my sleep and my eyes fly open. Did I roll over on Wonder? I lift up on my elbow, looking around to get my bearings when I see my worst nightmare standing at the end of my bed.

“Such a pretty little puppy.”

“Don’t, Georgia, please, she’s just a puppy.” She would think nothing of squeezing the life out of my sweet girl, so I try not to move a muscle. That’s what she wants, for me to panic and beg and plead.
If I give her what she wants, it’s all over. I’ve got to stall for time.

I force down the fear surging through me for the dog she’s holding, but what’s harder is stifling the rage that consumes me because that bitch is cradling my dog.

“And a diamond collar, my, my.” She scratches between Wonder’s ears as she asks, “I’m curious, who bought her the collar?” I take the moment she looks down at
my
dog to wrap my fingers around the pink camo 22 I’ve been sleeping with.

“Thorn did.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet?” she says in a mocking tone. My blood runs cold when she grabs the skin on Wonder’s neck and holds her out in front of her, coldly eyeing her. Wonder has never been held that way and she seems confused, not sure how to respond. I pray she doesn’t turn aggressive because Georgia would kill her and toss her aside without a second thought.

“It always amazes me how these stupid fucking animals trust anybody. Here I am, debating how to kill this little bitch’s mommy and she’s licking my hand.”

Wonder yelps and begins kicking her legs, trying to get free and Georgia just laughs, “Oh, look, she’s going to piss on herself.”

She never sees it coming but as the shot rings out she staggers backward, dropping the dog on the bed as she falls to the floor.

“You fucking cunt, you shot me!” She sounds stunned, confused even. This is probably the first time anyone has ever fought back with a chance in hell of winning. Well, fuck her. My gun may be pink but it’ll blast a hole in her fucking head as well as anything Thorn’s packing.

I jump from the bed and stand over her. “This is for my dog, you bitch,” I hiss before I kick the side of her head so hard it knocks her unconscious. I stand over her and put the gun to her forehead. “That’s not all I’m going to do.”

“Sweetheart, put the gun down, you don’t want to do this. Listen to me, baby, I’m right here and the boys are right behind me.”

I don’t even bother to look up when I hear Thorn’s voice, I just keep my gun trained on Georgia’s head, my hand shaking so hard that I place my other hand underneath it to steady my aim. “She hurt my dog, Thorn. She shouldn’t have done that.”

Thorn’s walking slowly toward me, his hands out to his side. “Baby girl, Wonder is fine. It isn’t worth it. That woman’s not fit to breathe the same air as other people, but trust me on this, you don’t want to live with the darkness that comes from killing someone – even someone who deserves it as much as she does. That darkness wraps itself around you and it never, ever leaves. I’m begging you not to do this. “His voice is stern as he says, “I will not lose you, Windy. You need to understand me. I will not let this happen.”

“He’s right, Miss Fairchild, she isn’t worth it. I’m standing right here…to tell you that.” Agent Turner’s voice pulls me back to reality, reminding me that if I kill her now it will be in front of a federal agent. I back up, never taking my eyes off her, and find myself against Thorn’s chest as he takes the gun from me and hands it to Agent Turner.

Thorn whispers, “Oh, baby, come here,” before he wraps his arms around me so hard I can barely breathe. But I don’t complain. I just let him hold me, glad to have his warmth as my body starts to quake from the adrenalin hangover that’s quickly overtaking me. Thorn sits on the bed with me in his lap, where Wonder joins us, pushing her wet nose into my hand, whimpering softly.

“She shouldn’t have hurt my dog.” I pull Wonder close to me, nuzzling her fur. “I wasn’t about to let that crazy woman hurt you, sweetie.” Even with everything that’s happened, I can’t help but laugh when she licks my face.

Thorn

I knew as soon as the new silent alarm went off that something was horribly wrong. We were on our way to deal with whatever was going on with Kenny. Harley had just finished telling me about confirming a massive download from her laptop – and that he had discovered spyware too – the really nasty kind that lets the perpetrator watch their subject as they go about their business; doing things like studying for school, dressing and undressing, getting fucked by her boyfriend.

I know that fucker Brinkley is behind this, even though I have no proof. The software was untraceable, but I fucking know it’s him. The bastard has seen my girl in every conceivable position because we don’t do a goddamn thing halfway in bed. He probably jerked off to us.

Harley was riding shotgun, talking me down from my plan to find Brinkley and cut his dick off, when the apartment’s silent alarm was triggered. Harley blew every red light as we made our way back across town. Cash called the Turner about the alarm, then handled Kenny, who, as it turns out, had been set up by Georgia as a diversion to get me out of the apartment.

Sure enough, something was wrong, alright; Georgia was getting ready to get her head blown off by a girl with a pink gun. Who am I kidding? That wasn’t just any girl; that was my Wonder Windy, saving the damn day. As I hold her in my lap, I’m damn proud of this woman. I had to stop her because I couldn’t let her endure the storm that would land in her life if she pulled the trigger. But I have never been fucking prouder of anyone in my life.

By the time Georgia wakes up, she’s already cuffed to a gurney for her ride to the hospital -- her first stop on the way to prison, no doubt. I’m relieved when Agent Turner speaks up.

“That’s a serial killer you’re dealing with, boys, this officer will be escorting you all to the hospital and I don’t want her out of his sight.”

“That bullet needs to come out, so she’ll be in surgery as soon as we get there. An OR is being prepped now.”

“My officer here will scrub up and observe surgery,” Turner says. The officer’s eyes practically bulge, he looks less than thrilled at his new assignment and I can’t blame him; I wouldn’t want to be in the same room with that bitch any longer than necessary either.

Thorn

I’m a grown-ass man, dammit. But as Windy and I stand on the Fairchilds’ doorstep, I feel like a pimply-faced kid on his first date. As soon as the news of Georgia’s arrest broke, Mrs. Fairchild was on the phone, issuing an invitation – more like a royal summons -- for Windy to join them for Sunday dinner. And me, too, of course; I am her bodyguard, after all. That’s all I am, as far as the Fairchilds are concerned. My arm tightens around Windy’s waist as I tug her closer to my side and kiss the top of her head. 
We’ll set them straight tonight.

I hear footsteps clicking across tile and then Mrs. Fairchild is standing in the doorway, beaming at her only child. “Windy! You’re home!” She pulls her girl into her arms and rocks her back and forth, with the special kind of affection that is unique to mothers. She greets me with a warm smile -- and a look that tells me I might not have as much explaining to do as I thought.

“Mrs. Fairchild, it’s been too long. Good to see you.”

“Oh, Thorn,” she says, glancing happily from me to Windy and back again. “I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you? Please call me Lydia.”

We chat in the foyer briefly, and I place my arm around Windy’s waist again, earning a downright angelic smile from her mother, and I allow myself to relax just a little. 
As Harley told me before we headed out tonight, ‘If the mom’s on your side, you’re halfway home.’

I hadn’t expected Harley to have anything helpful to say about my situation, but things may be changing for him as well. He and Melissa are still circling each other. She plays hard to get and he still chases her around like he has to have her—serves him right.

“Well, isn’t this just like old times, Thorn and his…Wonder…Windy,” Dr. Fairchild’s booming voice fades as he takes in the image of Windy clinging happily to my side. “Hello, darling,” he says with a stiff smile as he hugs his daughter but keeps his eyes trained on me.

“Hi yourself, Dad,” Windy says, oblivious to the masculine communication that’s happening over her shoulder.

“Windy, I know your mother could use some help in the kitchen. Jarrod, why don’t you come into my study so we can catch up properly?” he says over his shoulder, having already crossed the threshold into his sanctum.

Hearing him use my given name gets Windy’s attention and she turns to me with a grimace. “No worries,” I tell her softly. “I got this. Go help your mom.”

Dr. Fairchild gestures for me to sit in the leather chair in front of his desk. The old Queen Anne sofa is in front of the window.

“So, is this where you start calling me Dad?” he asks and I can’t decide if he’s joking or not. So I go for broke.

“Yes, sir. That’s the plan.”

“Oh, there’s a plan, is there? Why hasn’t Windy said anything about this?”

“Because I haven’t told her the plan yet, sir. I thought I should discuss it with you first. When the time is right, we’ll sit down together again in this room so I can ask your permission properly. For now, she needs time to adjust. With all that’s been going on, I’m not going to rush her. We just solved our first case together. Windy’s even decided she’s going to work full time with me. I guess sometimes there’s just too much water under the bridge for things to go back to the way they were.” I lock eyes with him as I declare, “I’m here to stay.” 

“I’m having a hard time accepting that she’s going to be dealing with dangerous people like that Georgia woman in her line of work,” he says solemnly. “Did I ever tell you how Elise got that nickname, Windy? When she was in the womb she moved a lot. Her mother said it felt like the wind blowing; you can feel it but you never know what direction it's coming from or where it’s going. Our Elise has always had big dreams and a need to change the world.”

“That she does,” I agree, watching a film reel in my mind’s eye of every moment I’ve spent with her.

Dr. Fairchild gets a faraway look in his eyes and turns his head toward the wall. It seems to me that he’s looking out a window that isn’t there, picturing an old swing set that’s probably rusting away across town. I don’t begrudge him his memories; I know how much mine mean to me. He continues softly, “Changing course to make a difference isn’t a challenge to Windy; it’s an opportunity. Now, that can be a good thing or a bad thing. She needs someone to help her recognize the difference so she doesn’t get hurt.”

“Georgia Clark is in a high-security prison two states away,” I assure him, “due to the outcry of the public and a judge who was hard ass enough to see her for what she truly is: a criminally insane woman who has learned to work the system to her advantage. Those days are over.”

The ensuing silence has me a little worried that I may have misread the situation and that he won’t be as receptive to a relationship between me and Windy as I had hoped.

“Well, I suppose I’m not completely surprised and her mother certainly seems happy about this turn of events. I have to say, knowing you were looking out for her helped her mother and I rest a little easier in recent days.” He stands up and turns to make his way around his desk, saying, “So having you at her side permanently is a plan I can definitely get behind.”

Before I can rise to my feet to shake his hand, there’s movement by the door. We both turn to see the white fluff ball slink into the room and look around, sniffing the air delicately, tail swishing. Windy and her mom are standing in the hall, just outside the door, trying – unsuccessfully -- to stifle gales of laughter.

This shit cannot be happening. Cuddles, we meet again.

The cat, who looks pretty good for as old as she must be, spots me and stops. She looks at me like she wants to eat me. Or lick me. Or something. I’ve never thought of cats as having particularly expressive faces, but I swear the old girl has a downright decadent look in her eyes as she slowly saunters toward me. I expect her to circle my ankles like old times, but she gets right down to business, leaping into my lap and purring like mad. I cut my eyes to Windy but promptly look away when she starts signaling for me to pet the damn thing. 

This is gonna cost you, lady. And I’ve got all night to figure out ways for you to pay.

Cuddles gazes up at me, not even blinking as she settles in my lap. I scratch behind her ears just long enough to be able to say I did. Maybe she’ll go to sleep or find someone else to torment, but, no, she stands and flicks her tail back and forth. I’m starting to think cats do that when they’re thinking particularly hard. She walks her front paws up my chest slowly until we’re eye to eye. She flexes her front paws, kneading my chest, and I discover that Cuddles has not been declawed. A lesser man would complain, but I’m in a face off with this cat and I won’t blink – even as Windy and her mom laugh so hard that they’re practically hanging on each other in their battle to remain upright.

Windy’s dad, of all people, comes to my rescue. He gently picks the cat up and cradles her against his chest, stroking her fur. “You’re an old girl now, aren’t you, Cuddles? But you still know what you like.” He turns his warm gaze toward me and smiles with approval at Windy, who is tucked close to my side now – close enough for me to feel the sob that shudders through her as she returns her father’s smile. “I’d say that’s a seal of approval if I’ve ever seen one. Welcome to the family, son.”