HOT SEAL Rescue (HOT SEAL Team - Book 3) Page 2
“And what makes you think you’re qualified to provide backup?” No way in hell was she accepting the help of a guy she didn’t know, but he intrigued her more than he should. Too pretty by half.
Time’s wasting, girlie.
“The name’s Cody, by the way.”
“Cody. Fine. Look, I don’t have time for small talk, and I’m not going to sleep with you. You can run along now. Go find a waitress to fuck or something, but stop wasting my time.”
He took a step into her before she knew what he was about. Instinctively, she stepped back on her heel and prepared to attack.
His hands moved like lightning. A moment later, she was staring at her purse tucked under his arm. Holy shit.
“Give me that back. Now.”
He looked too cool for words. Unfazed. She was having to revise her opinion of him, and she didn’t like what this new development said about what she’d thought of him in the first place. Was she losing her touch?
“Not happening, Jane. Not until you tell me who you are and what’s going on.”
3
Jane stared at him with wide eyes. And then her mouth hardened and her chest swelled as she sucked in air. “I need that back, asshole. Don’t make me take it away from you.”
Cody nearly laughed. “Take it away from me? Sure, you can try.”
“Are you purposely trying to get me killed, or do you just not understand plain English?” Her voice was strained, but not from the effort of trying to be heard in the noisy casino.
“I’m a SEAL, Jane. I can help. Tell me what you need.”
She looked like she might kick him in the balls, but then her chin lifted. “I need a car. I need to get the fuck out of Vegas as quickly as possible.”
“You’re in luck. I have a car.”
“Why should I care? Give me back my purse and I’ll find my own car, thanks.”
He snorted. “You’d seriously steal a car when you could just let me drive you?”
“I don’t know you. I don’t trust you.”
He started toward the elevators, certain she would follow. He wasn’t wrong. She kept pace with him in those killer stilettos, but only because he wasn’t trying to get away from her.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room. I need to get my stuff.”
“Look, asshole, just give me back my purse and forget you ever met me. It’s safer for you.”
“Apparently you didn’t hear me. I’m a SEAL, honey. I don’t walk away from a challenge.”
He stepped into the elevator as it opened and then turned to see what she would do. Her mouth was tight as she passed inside the shiny interior. She went to the wall opposite and then turned to face him, leaning back against the railing in such a way that her chest was exaggerated. He couldn’t figure out if she was trying to distract him or not. Still, he kept his eyes firmly fixed to her face as the doors slid closed and the noise of the casino faded.
“What are you doing in Vegas, sailor? Shore leave?”
“Something like that.”
She snorted. “Who’s hiding something now?”
Hiding something? Yeah, he was, though it surprised him she’d deduced that much from the few words he’d said.
But he always hid his feelings when it came to his mother. He thought of the call he’d gotten from his grandfather a few days ago, telling him that his mother was drinking again. And when Maggie was drinking, she was hitting the casinos. Doing recreational drugs, sleeping with random guys, searching for her newest sugar daddy. Whatever it took to get high and ease the pain of her many demons.
Cody’s jaw tightened. Fucking demons. He’d never really known what they were, but he was pretty sure he was the result of one of them. She’d had him far too young, left him with her parents, and only came home on occasion to see him. When she was home and clean, she was his mother to the best of her ability in spite of the fact he often felt more mature than she was. When she fell off the wagon, she was self-destructive.
He hadn’t found her yet, but that’s because she didn’t want to be found. And, frankly, he was tired of dragging her out of messes of her own making. She was on a bender, but she’d return in a week or two, repentant and promising this was the last time.
It never was the last time. If not for his aging grandparents, he’d probably leave her to her own devices because he was fucking sick of the emotional manipulation. It worked on her parents and she knew it. Thrived on it.
It did not work on him.
If he hadn’t already been planning a trip back, he wouldn’t have made a special one. But one of his teammates was getting married in Vegas next week, and Cody had tacked on some vacation time to see his grandparents first since they lived a few hours away.
“Not hiding anything that could get me killed, darlin’. Promise you that.”
The elevator doors opened then and he exited, heading for his room. He deliberately turned his back on Jane, though he was certain she knew a thing or two about self-defense. He wasn’t worried she’d get the jump on him here. For one thing, she was too far behind, scuttling along on those heels and trying to catch up now that he’d lengthened his stride.
When he reached his door, he turned to watch her. Her face was a thundercloud and he chuckled to himself. Yeah, she’d been planning to try to disarm him, but she’d been unable to catch him.
He unlocked the door and went into the room. It was a big room by your typical hotel standards, with a king-sized bed, a couch, two chairs, a desk, and an armoire with a TV. Either his cousin had hooked him up or all the rooms were this big. It definitely wasn’t a high-class hotel, but it wasn’t dilapidated either.
Jane tottered in and sank onto the couch, pulling off her shoes and rubbing her feet. “Jesus these things are torture.”
“So why the fuck are you wearing them?” he asked as he grabbed his things and stuffed them into his duffel.
“Because it was necessary.”
“Don’t suppose you have a change of clothes in this thing?” he asked, holding up the purse he’d kept tucked under his arm.
“Unfortunately, no. My clothes are at the Venetian.”
“Anything identifying? Any clues to where you might go from there?”
She shook her head. “Definitely not.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “So which is it? FBI? DEA?”
He didn’t miss the tightening of her features. Bingo. He’d hit on the fact she was employed by the US government, and she didn’t like it.
“Neither.”
“Where’s your phone? Shouldn’t you have a way to be in contact?”
She looked a little pained. “No phones allowed around Victor Conti. His men would confiscate it if I dared. So no, I don’t have one.”
“You use burners, am I right? Probably have the numbers you need memorized.”
She inclined her head, giving him that much. Her whiskey eyes sparked with heat and intelligence.
“What I don’t understand is this—where’s your backup? And how did you think you were getting a gun through that guy’s security when you wouldn’t take a phone with you?”
She tugged at the skirt of her dress. A gesture of discomfort. “First of all, this isn’t the movies, cowboy. We don’t all work with secretive teams backing us up, hunkering over computer screens in hotel rooms and listening to everything we say. Some ops are more basic.”
“So this is an op.”
She looked frustrated. “That’s none of your business.”
“You made it my business when you shoved a pistol in my ribs—and you still haven’t explained how you expected to get by with carrying a gun.”
“I didn’t expect to get by with it. I expected them to confiscate it—but I wanted them to know that I carry a weapon and know how to use it. Assholes like that don’t respect anything less. Besides, there’s no incriminating information they can get off a gun—at least not off that gun. If I took a phone and they forced me to unlock it? No way.” Sh
e raked a hand through her hair and swore. “Why the hell didn’t I choose the nerd?”
He blinked. “What?”
“The tall, skinny guy with glasses and suspenders standing four feet to your left.”
Cody remembered the guy. He’d been standing next to the sculpture in the atrium, gazing up at it in rapt attention. Then he’d seen good old Jane here striding over, and his jaw had hit the floor. He’d ceased staring at the sculpture and started staring at her. If she’d walked up to him, he’d have pissed himself.
“You didn’t choose him because he would have gotten you caught. Probably faint at the hint you had a weapon, or scream, and then what?”
“Yes, then what?” She sighed, and he finished tossing his stuff in the bag. Then he took his phone out of his pocket and hit a button.
“Yo, Cowboy, whassup?” It was Remy Marchand’s voice on the other end of the line. His SEAL team’s second-in-command—and the guy getting married in a few days.
Cody eyed the gorgeous Jane sitting on his couch. She looked wary but resigned. “Got a situation, Cage. Might need some backup.”
4
Miranda didn’t like that he was sharing what had happened so far with someone on the phone, but there wasn’t any way to stop him. She eyed him as he talked, her blood humming with interest and frustration combined.
It was the kind of frustration that came from being stuck here with a man who’d gotten the jump on her, not sexual frustration.
Though, dammit, there was a particular buzzing in the vicinity of her nether regions that indicated parts of her might be interested in parts of him if the timing was right.
Why oh why couldn’t she be a normal woman on a trip to Vegas? Maybe one who’d gotten dumped and had come here to ease her broken heart? A little hot sex with a handsome stranger might just be the way to cure that kind of pain, though Miranda wouldn’t know.
She’d never been dumped, and she’d never spent enough time with any one guy to get hung up on him. Mark had been different. He’d saved her from God only knows what kind of life when he’d plucked her from a strip club at the tender age of eighteen. He’d been part of a joint task force sting operation to bring down a drug network that had been centered in the club. She’d been so new there, so green, just trying to find her way in a world that had never been very welcoming.
It’s what happened when you ran away from home and didn’t have any plan for how to take care of yourself.
Mark had done a lot for her, though she’d hardly seen him for two years after that night. When she was twenty-two, she’d joined the CIA. When she was twenty-three, he’d finally come to see her as adult enough to make her own decisions about sleeping with him.
The sex was comfortable, not earth-shattering, but that’s what she wanted. Comfort.
There was nothing comfortable about the throbbing need manifesting inside her nether regions right now. No, this kind of desire was not something rational or sensible.
Cody the Cowboy—she thought of him that way because of the boots and faded jeans, though why that was she couldn’t say—still had her purse under his arm. It was funny in a way, and not so funny in all the ways that mattered.
Holy shit but he’d disarmed her fast. Before she even knew he intended it. Yeah, that made her angry because it knocked her off her game. Was she getting so bad that she couldn’t defend against such a maneuver? Hell, she hadn’t even seen it coming—and that was embarrassing in the extreme.
What would Badger say? What would Mark have said? They’d be ashamed of her, she was certain.
She took comfort in the fact that as quickly as he’d disarmed her, he could have killed her if that was his intention. If he’d been working for Conti, he’d have done it already.
Unless Conti wanted to find out who else was involved in this operation…
Miranda shook her head. No, that wasn’t his style at all. Besides, he already knew something because he’d known who she was. Her cover had been blown, and that wasn’t easy to do. She had to consider the implications of that—an inside job?
Possibly.
“Yo, Jane—care to provide any further information for my buddies here?” Cody was standing over her with the phone at his ear. Waiting for her to say who she was and what she was doing.
Not happening.
“Sorry, no. I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
Cody snorted. “See, man?” he said into the phone. “Told you it wasn’t happening. … Yeah, all right. Call you in two hours.”
He ended the call and slipped the phone into his jeans. Then he opened up her purse, removed the Sig, cleared it—and ejected the clip. Son of a bitch.
He gave her a shit-eating grin that made her want to clock him as he tossed the gun and purse back to her.
“What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?” she demanded, holding up the empty Sig.
“Dunno, baby. But until you tell me who you are and what this is all about, I’m not giving you the ammo.”
Miranda got to her feet. “And just how do you expect me to defend myself?”
His grin didn’t change. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He shouldered his duffel bag. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Miranda grabbed her shoes. No way was she putting them on just yet. “Wait a minute—just where do you think we’re going anyway? You have no idea who I am, or where I need to go, or even who’s after me—”
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, sunshine. I do know who’s after you. You told me his name, remember?”
Miranda barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Literal-ass jerk. “He’s dangerous. You have no idea.”
“Sure I do. I just found out all I needed to know about Victor Conti. He deals in drugs and guns for the most part with some petty sex trade on the side. Porn films typically, mostly because he likes to watch the filming—oh, and then he likes to take the starlets home and reenact the whole thing privately.”
Miranda could only gape. It had taken weeks of work to gather all that information. So far as she knew, it was classified. And yet this cowboy knew it all in a matter of minutes.
“You aren’t a Navy SEAL,” she said, her heart thumping. “I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t that.”
“Actually, I am. But I work for an organization that, uh, knows things. If you’re involved with Conti, then you’re either with the FBI, DEA, or the CIA. Conti’s illegal activities fall under the areas of interest for any of the three.”
Crap.
“So care to tell me which one it is?” he finished. “Might make this a bit easier for both of us.”
“You planning to give me back my ammunition if I do?”
“Depends,” he said.
Miranda sighed. Her default setting was not to trust anyone, but maybe she needed to start. Not that she’d tell him everything. Definitely not. But she could give him enough to relax his guard—and then she could give him the slip when she got the chance.
Or, hell, maybe he’d prove to be useful after all.
“CIA,” she said. “We’re interested in the arms dealing, of course. He’s been supplying guns to ISIS and the Freedom Force, among others, for quite some time. But he’s also putting assault weapons on the streets here, and that’s not a good thing. Of course, that’s the FBI’s territory, but we’re cooperating on this one.”
“So what’s your real name, Jane?”
“Actually, that is my real name—my middle name. My first name is Miranda.”
“Miranda,” he said softly, and a shiver ran down her spine. Liquid heat took up residence in her core, spilling out into her limbs. All because of the way he said her name. What the hell was that about?
“That’s right. Can I have my clip back now?”
“Not quite. Give me a last name.”
“Why do you need that?” It was against her religion to share her details. She’d had that drummed into her during the years of covert ops. Trust no one.
HOT. He had to be talking about the Hostile Operations Team, but she wasn’t going to be the first to speak the name. Yeah, she knew about them. Mark had done ops with them before in the Middle East. She’d once spent a rough two days in the embassy in Baghdad with a group of HOT operators. They’d been there to extract a major who’d gotten nabbed in a market and taken prisoner. But then the embassy came under attack, and she’d thought for sure the major was dead.
He wasn’t though. HOT came through.
“And what phantom group is this?” she replied, because she wasn’t going to let on that she knew.
“We’re called HOT. We deal in pretty much all the shit nobody else wants to. We go where none dare.”
Where None Dare. Yes, she remembered that from the team she’d spent time with. They were proud of that.
For the first time, she felt a little bit of relief flowing through her. “My name is Miranda Lockwood. That’s not the name Conti was supposed to know—but he does. I don’t know how, but I’ve been compromised.”
Saying the words aloud was like releasing the pressure in a valve. She felt as if a weight was gone even though nothing had been resolved.
Wordlessly, Cody handed her the clip to her weapon. She took it and slid it home. Then she put the gun into her purse and draped the chain over her shoulder. The sense of relief washing through her was strong. She was used to staying on her guard, and she still would, of course, but his gesture meant something. He wasn’t out to kill her. At least not immediately.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Trust me now?”
She shrugged. “I don’t trust anyone. But I believe we’re on the same side. At least for now.”
“I’m going to help you, Miranda. We’re getting out of here. Promise.”
She’d love to believe him, but she’d learned never to count the chickens before the eggs hatched. That’s how you ended up dead in this business.
“I’m going to need a change of clothes and a burner,” she said, all businesslike. “Can you manage that?”