HOT Addiction: A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 10 Page 7

  He didn’t know what that was, but it clearly tripped her trigger.

  “Lawrence of Arabia?” she said, making it into a question. “You ever see that movie?”

  “Nope.”

  “Shocking. It’s quite the epic.” She held up the book. “Based on this book here. Lawrence was a British officer in Africa and the Middle East during World War One. He helped turn the Arabs into a force to defeat the Turks. And caused quite a few problems too. Part of why we have trouble in the Middle East today comes from what the British and French did when they divided up the region and redrew maps without thought to tribal boundaries.”

  He’d seen that trouble in the Middle East firsthand. More often than he’d like. “If you already know those things, why d’you want to read about it again?”

  She shrugged. “Because the story is more gripping than a novel, and the words are beautiful. You feel like you’re in the desert.”

  “I’ve been to the desert. It’s not all that great.”

  “Well, I haven’t. This book is the best adventure story you’ll ever read in your life because you know it’s true—or close to true.”

  “I don’t remember you caring about history all that much.”

  She laughed. “I didn’t think I did—but my friend Molly is a huge history buff. She loaned me Lawrence and told me I had to read him. So I did.”

  Dex couldn’t remember the last time he’d read a book. Newspapers and journals, yeah. But not a book. He didn’t have time.

  She opened the book and read aloud. “By day the hot sun fermented us; and we were dizzied by the beating wind. At night we were stained by dew, and shamed into pettiness by the innumerable silences of stars.”

  “Tell me that is not gorgeous.” Her eyes burned brightly. “The innumerable silences of stars.”

  He thought about the nights spent downrange in Qu’rim and Acamar, Iraq and Afghanistan, waiting for the target to appear. The vastness of the sky, the silence of the desert, and the chill air that punched you in the gut because it was so damned hot during the day.

  “I guess it’s nice,” he said, annoyed that he liked it. “So what?”

  She scoffed. “Nice? It’s poetry! Want to hear more?”

  She looked hopeful and sweet. The urge to say yes swelled inside him, pushing against the rock-hard determination to say no. But the memory of standing in a Kentucky church with the rain pouring down and the guests fidgeting in their seats was a hot poker to the brain.

  “Not really.” Her face fell. He didn’t care. He didn’t have to be nice to her. He didn’t have to let her get beneath his skin. This was all too close for comfort—riding in the truck for hours, eating a cozy dinner they’d made, sharing a bathroom—and now she wanted to add reading a book together?

  No.

  Tomorrow morning, he’d drive her to DC, hand over the computer to his team, and forget all about Annabelle Quinn. Because once he delivered the computer, he was done with her too.

  “Going to bed. Enjoy the book.”

  10

  When Dex rapped on her door way too early, Annabelle jolted awake and stumbled into the shower. She turned the water as hot as she could take it and let it melt the ice of sleep from her veins. There was no hair dryer, so her hair hung wet and limp down her back when she was through. She yanked on jeans and a tank top, shrugged into a button-down shirt, and stumbled out for a cup of coffee. Dex handed her a granola bar. She was still choking it down when he told her it was time to go.

  The air was decidedly cool in the mountains of West Virginia. Annabelle wrapped her jacket tighter and waited for Dex. When he unlocked the big Ford, she climbed inside and curled into her seat.

  A yawn cracked her jaw. She should have put the book down much sooner, but it was a distraction she’d needed.

  Until she’d started thinking about Dex saying he’d been to the desert. She knew what that meant. He’d been fighting in the wars in the Middle East. Qu’rim, Iraq, Afghanistan. It had never been far from her mind over the past few years that he could be in danger. She’d kept an eye on the newspaper. If Dex were ever killed in action, Briar City would know about it. Katie would make sure that Dex was given a hero’s return and burial.

  Annabelle shivered at the idea of Dex coming home in a flag-draped coffin. When he’d first told her he wanted to join the military, she’d been fearful of what might happen. But she’d understood his reasons—he was a farmer’s kid and his dad couldn’t put him through college, so he would join the military and get college money that way.

  That was nearly ten years ago now, so he clearly hadn’t left the Army once his initial four-year enlistment was up. She wondered if that was because of her. Her stomach cratered at the thought.

  “Do you like the Army?” she asked him when they’d been on the road for an hour.

  He shot her a puzzled glance. “Yeah, I do. It’s been good to me.”

  “What do you do in the Army? You never really told me when I asked you last night.”

  “I fight,” he said.

  “Dex.”

  “I don’t owe you any answers, Annabelle.”

  She sighed and sat up straighter. “I know that. I’m trying to have a conversation. Not to mention you told me, repeatedly, this is your job—but I don’t know what that means. How do I know you can really find the money, or Mr. Lyon, or keep Charlotte and me safe? Because you keep telling me to trust you—and I do trust you—but you don’t tell me anything else.”

  “I’m in Special Ops. Counterterrorism. I fight the bad guys.”

  He didn’t say anything else after that, and she got the hint that he wasn’t going to. “Thank you for that. I appreciate it.”

  “You’ll need to keep that information to yourself,” he said. “When you go back home.”

  “I will.”

  Dex was all business this morning. “You’ll be briefed when we get to DC. They’ll explain everything—or as much as you can know.”

  “So this is kind of like NCIS,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood. “They’re always doing super-secret stuff and going after the bad guys—terrorists and rogue agents and spies.”

  “If that’s how you want to think of it.”

  “It is. So do you have an Agent Gibbs?”

  “Who?”

  “He’s the guy in charge. Gray hair, badass as hell. Everyone jumps when he says boo. I kinda find him sexy.”

  He snorted. “I don’t know how sexy he is, but we have a guy like that. Mendez.”

  “Will I get to meet him?”

  “I don’t know.” His brows arrowed down. That wasn’t good for her. “Look, Annabelle… when we get to DC and turn over the computer, there’ll probably be other operators—agents in NCIS-speak—who’ll take over. You’ll be safe with them, and they’ll make sure they get to the bottom of this.”

  Her heart fell. “You mean you won’t be helping me?”

  He looked troubled. “Do you really think that’s the best idea?”

  “Well, yes. I trust you. I know you, and I know you’re a good man. I don’t know these other people.”

  “They’re all good people. You’ll be fine.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “You don’t want to help me, do you? You want to get as far away as possible.”

  “I want you to be safe. You don’t need me to make sure that happens.”

  “We were friends once.”

  “You’re the one who changed that, not me.”

  Helpless disappointment boiled in her gut. Anger underpinned it. Sorrow bound the whole mess together into one giant ball of suck. Because there’d been a lot of sorrow for her too. He had no idea.

  The unfairness filled her to bursting. She’d kept the truth to herself because bringing up the past changed nothing. But she had a sudden need to prick the bubble of his indifference. To make him see he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered. She’d endured his anger and contempt since yesterday. She was tired of it. She hadn’t planned to tel
l him the truth, but she could no longer hold it in.

  “My parents forced me to marry Eric,” she spat out. “To save my father’s ass.”

  His jaw went granite-hard, his hands flexing on the wheel. His brown eyes glittered hotly as he shot a glare her way. “Don’t.”

  She flinched. But her anger frothed anew at his attempt to shut her out. He didn’t believe her.

  And that pissed her off.

  “Jesus Christ, Dex. You don’t even want the truth, do you? Well, you’re getting it, like it or not.” Part of her brain said no, no, no. But the other part was too far over the line to care. “My dad worked for Eric’s father. My parents spent beyond their means, and my dad got a little creative with the Archer books so he could siphon off money. Eric caught him. Eric’s price for silence was me.”

  He white-knuckled the wheel. “That’s insane.”

  “Yes, I know. But Eric was a classic narcissist. Everything was about him. When he decided you were the enemy, he wanted everything you had. He didn’t get to be quarterback or homecoming king, he didn’t get a school record or win a state championship—but he got me, and he hurt you in the process. He was pretty pleased with himself over that.”

  Dex’s face was red and she knew he was thinking about it—and getting angrier by the minute. Hell, she was angry too. Angry and heartbroken and filled with regret for the past. And then there was Charlotte. Did she tell him about her doubts or did she leave it in the past? What good would it do to drag that up when she didn’t even know what the truth was?

  Dex growled and slammed a palm down on the wheel. Annabelle jumped.

  “If he wasn’t already dead, I’d kill him.”

  *

  “You believe me then?” Annabelle squeaked.

  They rolled into a town and Dex yanked the truck into the first parking lot he could find. He left the engine running as he turned to face her. Because this thing was fucking with him, and he needed to know if she was playing him. Again.

  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Her chin dropped, damp strands of her golden hair spilling over her shoulders. She pushed the hair away. Her fingers trembled. He didn’t doubt she was emotional over this—but what kind of emotion was it?

  “I just told you. There’s no more to know. I let them convince me their lives were over if I didn’t do this one thing. Dad would go to jail and Mom would be destitute. She’d never had a job—she’d only ever been a society wife, and she’d be forced to go to work. Probably in a low-paying, unskilled job.” She snorted. “Can you imagine my mother waiting tables? Or cleaning hotel toilets?”

  “So fucking what.” He said it quietly, but his stomach churned and his heart pumped. He’d never liked the Quinns. Pretentious assholes who thought they were better than everyone else. Cleaning toilets would be just what her mother deserved. Jail was too good for her father.

  Her chin jerked up and she glared at him with glassy eyes. “You’re judging me? What if it was your dad Eric threatened? Would you help him or would you hang him out to dry?”

  He gritted his teeth. Yeah, what would he do? Most likely he’d go pound Eric into the ground and threaten to force-feed him his own balls if he didn’t back off. But that wouldn’t have been Annabelle’s reaction.

  Her parents had never liked Dex. He was a farmer’s kid, and even when he’d joined the Army, he hadn’t been good enough for their daughter. When they paid attention to their daughter, which they didn’t tend to do very often.

  But of course they’d paid attention when Eric demanded Annabelle in return for his silence. The fuckers had sold her out—and Dex too. They hadn’t cared about her happiness or her well-being. They’d sold her out to save their own asses.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She spread her hands. A tear spilled down her cheek. “How could I, Dex? You wouldn’t have understood.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Her laugh was bitter. “Yes, I do know that. You hated Eric. You’d have gone after him—and how would that have turned out?” She shook her head. “You’d be the one in jail.”

  He hated to think she was right. But she probably was. He’d have killed Eric Archer for daring to threaten the woman he loved. He’d have killed him for even thinking he could touch a hair on Annabelle’s head.

  But Eric had done much more than that, hadn’t he? They had a daughter together. A four-year-old daughter.

  Acid and bitterness churned in his gut. He wanted to punch something, and he wanted to go deep into the woods and shout until he was hoarse.

  He had to think. Yes, he was furious. The pain of that day came back to sucker punch him. It had been brutal. His entire life changed in that moment, and in all the long moments after. He’d stopped believing in anything so capricious as love. It obviously changed depending on the day, so why believe in it? Love, trust, faith—she’d taken those things from him.

  He’d been defined by that day in ways that still pissed him off because he hadn’t been in control of it, but he’d accepted it. Life sometimes sucked, but those sucky moments didn’t have to rule you.

  Now Annabelle was blowing everything he knew about what had happened out of the water. Blowing him off course and into choppy seas.

  He could choose to believe she was making it all up. It would be easier that way. But the things he knew about Eric Archer told him it wasn’t a lie. The dude had been obsessed when they were in high school. They’d been friends once, but it went wrong over a girl. Not Annabelle. Trisha Carpenter. Trisha had been the head cheerleader, and Eric and Dex both liked her. They’d both been on the football team, both tried out for quarterback as freshman but didn’t get it.

  But then the quarterback got hurt and Dex was chosen to take his place. That’s when Trisha turned her attentions to him. Eric had spent weeks talking about how much he liked her, how she was going to be his girl someday—and then she’d wanted Dex. Eric had never forgiven him for it. Soon after, they’d been rivals.

  “Dex?”

  He focused on Annabelle. He’d loved that face. Loved that body. Believed in her with all his heart and soul. And she’d left him for that piece of shit Archer. It was a betrayal he couldn’t forgive.

  “You still should have told me,” he growled. “You made a decision that affected me and you let me believe—” He raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck, it doesn’t matter what you let me believe. You didn’t respect me enough to include me in a life-altering decision that had deep ramifications for you and me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t think I had a choice.”

  He hated being so angry. Hated the way it made him feel inside. He shoved the truck into gear but didn’t let off the brake just yet.

  “You always have a choice, Annabelle. You made yours and it ruined us both. It’s too late to change that.”

  11

  Mendez’s cell phone rang. It was Sam, so he answered.

  “I missed you last night, Johnny,” she said, her voice a sultry purr.

  “Sorry about that, but we had a situation.”

  She laughed. “You always have a situation.”

  “So do you. Nature of our jobs, I guess.”

  “Yes, that is completely true.” She dragged in a breath and he heard the telltale crackle of her e-cigarette. “In fact, our situations are about to intersect I believe.”

  An itch started at the back of his neck. A prickly, annoying itch that told him he wasn’t going to like this one damned bit.

  “Oh? How’s that?”

  “Annabelle Quinn-Archer. We want her.”

  Annoyance flared in his gut. “I don’t have her. Why do you want her?”

  “Now, Johnny, I gave you the information about Eric Archer and his deal. You wouldn’t know the origins of the money if I hadn’t told you.”

  “I’d have found out. Maybe not as quickly, but I’d have gotten it. You forget that you aren’t my only source.”

  “Yes
, but I’m your favorite one.”

  “That’s true,” he said, thinking of the way her lips sometimes wrapped around his cock and took him to heaven. Not that he didn’t appreciate all the other ways in which he and Sam took pleasure from each other because he damn sure did. Still, he didn’t have the sense that if she cut him off, he’d go mad.

  He’d shrug and move on, and that wasn’t what she deserved. He’d been thinking about it a lot lately—of their relationship and the casual nature of it. He sometimes thought she wanted more. Hell, he sometimes wanted more—but not with Sam, and that’s what bothered him.

  “Eric Archer received over half a billion dollars from the Russian he met in Africa. That’s a hell of a fortune—and if his wife has any clue where that money is, we want to know.”

  Half a billion for unproven technology? Either the Russians were stupid or Eric Archer had been the Einstein of con artists. “She’s with my operator. They’re coming in, but I don’t know when they’ll arrive.”

  “You’ll let me know?”

  “Yeah, I’ll give you a call.” It was a measure of the kind of man he’d learned to be over the years that he could tell her he would when he didn’t know for certain it was true. He never gave his hand away, and if there was a compelling reason to keep Annabelle Quinn-Archer in HOT’s custody, then that’s what he’d do. To hell with what the CIA wanted. If they got the woman, they’d probably cut HOT out of the loop.

  The spirit of cooperation hadn’t been all that strong lately. Mendez blamed Congressman DeWitt on that score. He’d gotten the ear of the director, and he liked to bend it as often as possible. Mendez, however, was not the sort of man to relinquish the advantage when he had it.

  “I’d ask if we’ll see each other tonight, but I think I know the answer to that,” Sam said with a laugh.

  “Soon,” he said. “Bye, Sam.”

  The minute they hung up, he stood and headed into the ops center. Time to institute the backup plan.

  *

  Annabelle wanted so badly to call Molly, but Dex had told her she couldn’t turn her phone on. He’d given it back to her that morning, but he’d warned her not to power it up.