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Authors: Joan Swan

BOOK: Blaze
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“Good question. The way this all panned out, I'm starting to believe no one knew.”
No way. Someone knew.
He spun with a glare ready for Keira. But it was wasted. She was absorbed in Tony. Before Luke turned away again, Tony lowered his head and kissed her. A solid, serious, purposeful, full-on-the-mouth kiss. Luke froze. Pain stabbed the center of his chest.
“Did you hear me?”
His boss's voice pulled him back. Luke squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. He could have gone his entire life without seeing her kiss another man. Sure as hell hadn't planned on being around as a witness.
“Uh, no, boss.” Luke rubbed the back of his neck as anger transitioned into hollow loss. “I didn't.”
“I said that Delgado is in the parking lot handling releases. He'll get you a vehicle and a hotel room for the night. You can head back to town tomorrow.”
“Sure, whatever.”
Luke disconnected and waited a few seconds before facing the threesome again. He took a breath, cleared his mind, smoothed a hand over the pain in his chest. Whatever she'd dragged herself into here with Rostov and Mateo and Tony wasn't his problem. She'd relieved him of the need to worry about her when she'd made her choice three years ago. She'd chosen the Bureau. So the fucking Bureau could take care of her now.
He shoved his phone back into his pocket and picked up his duffel. As he approached, Keira took a step back from Tony. She didn't meet Luke's eyes. Guilty. She never looked him in the eye when she felt guilty.
“Looks like you've got everything here under control.” Luke tried to keep his tone flat, but even he could tell it came out rusty, pained, and venomous. “In case you're interested, the
army
has taken over control of the incident.”
That got her attention. Her light eyes jumped to his and held.
“You might want to double-check with West,” he said, “but I was told that even the Feds have been released. So . . .” He cast a glance at Tony, then Mateo, the boy's face buried in Keira's shoulder, hands fisted in her shirt, and back at Keira before he started down the hall. “I guess you can all get on with your lives now.”
“Luke, wait.” Keira peered around Tony's shoulder with an unreasonable sense of panic tightening her throat.
It isn't what you think.
“I need to talk to you.”
Luke didn't slow, didn't stop, didn't even turn around. He either didn't care or didn't hear her. Maybe her relationship status just didn't matter. Because
she
just didn't matter. He'd turned his back on her exactly as he had before. Keira felt the rejection all the way to her bones.
And she felt something else, too. An all-encompassing sense of anxiety. Impending disaster. A clusterfuck waiting to happen. Something . . . odd, but dark. Something she couldn't pinpoint or place or attach to anyone or anything.
Tony sidestepped and cut off her view. “Keira, what do you think?”
She didn't know what he was talking about, because once she'd shifted her mind off Luke, her thoughts automatically returned to the irresistible urge to wipe the feel of Tony's mouth off hers with the back of her hand.
That
was probably the root of these disgusting sensations.
“I think you'd better never kiss me again without my permission. I was very clear about our relationship months ago. Nothing has changed.”
“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands. “I'm sorry. I got carried away. But, it's perfect. Now that you don't have to go back to the scene, we can take a little vacation. Go somewhere quiet, just the three of us. It can be completely platonic. If something happens between us, great. If not, I'll accept it. But that will give Mateo time to get to know me while you're still in the picture. I mean, look at him. What do you think he's going to do when I try to walk out of here with him?”
True. Mateo wouldn't even look at Tony. Wouldn't even allow Keira to put him down. Luke was gone. She'd been released from the scene. There was no excuse not to go with Tony, but the thought of being alone with him for even an hour, let alone days, made her squirm.
“Look, Tony, we both knew this transition was going to be tough. You may have to suffer through a few nights of tears, but he'll get over it. He'll probably forget about me after a day or so.”
“That's what you said about me.” He smiled, all charm, and ran his fingers over her uninjured cheek. “You're not the kind of girl a boy forgets after a few days.”
Oh, no? Ask the man who just left.
“This is already way harder than I expected.” The thought of leaving Mateo created an unshakable sense of loss. She had an undeniable connection with the boy, but it wasn't legal or even mental. It was chemical. And Keira still didn't know how to lead into that conversation, only knew that now was not the time or place. “Dragging it out won't help.”
The smile disappeared from Tony's eyes, and something uncomfortable niggled along the back of Keira's neck.
“How about this,” she offered. “I'll stay close to you two and come see you every day. That will give you both time to acclimate.”
“I had a feeling you'd say that.” Tony slid his hand around the nape of her neck. “I wish you didn't make me do these things.”
His fingers shot into her hair with unexpected force. He yanked her head back. Pain seared her scalp.
“T-Tony, stop.” She started to set Mateo down, needing her hands free to knock the living shit out of this bastard. But Tony tightened his fingers, and Keira choked on the new surge of pain.
“Keep your voice down,” he murmured in her ear. “Or you won't be the only one hurt.”
Something cool and smooth touched the base of her neck. His weapon. He was her tactical equal. Her self-defense skills, her negotiation techniques, they were all rote to him. Panic edged in.
“This . . . this . . .” She didn't know what
this
was. It made no sense. It was so out of character, yet some part of her psyche wasn't completely surprised. “This is really stupid, Tony. Think about your career. Your future. Put the gun away and I won't mention this to West. We'll chalk it all up to stress and forget it ever happened.”
“West doesn't mean shit to me. This
is
my career. My future. And I'm damn sick and tired of the delays.”
He released her hair and pushed the gun against Mateo's ribs. The boy flinched, buried his head deeper into the hollow of Keira's shoulder, and whined,
“Kakos andras, Thia.”
“We're leaving through that door.” Tony lifted his chin toward an exit down the hall and pushed her forward.
“I'll scream.” She scanned the room, the hallway, the area, for some type of weapon, for someone to help, but all personnel had been pulled to the trauma bay. “You'll never make it out of the parking lot.”
“You won't make a sound, because I don't want you or this kid as much as the others do.”
The others
. Her chest plunged into a deep freeze.
No. He couldn't be. She'd known him for over a year. Worked with him almost every day at the Bureau. She couldn't have missed . . . The
FBI
couldn't have missed . . .
He pushed the weapon against Mateo's ribs, and the boy let out a sharp squeal of pain. The sound ripped at her heart. “And remember, alive is preferred, dead is perfectly acceptable.”
Those were West's words. Keira's mind pinged back to the moment her boss had said them. There hadn't been anyone within earshot. It wasn't a typical FBI euphemism.
She'd always considered Angus a mentor, a muse, someone she'd hoped to emulate someday. Now she didn't know what to think. Or who to trust.
Luke.
Luke, come back!
She didn't know why she tried to contact him telepathically. He might have heard Mateo's thoughts, but he hadn't indicated he'd been able to hear hers. The truth was she had no idea how this mind thing worked, because the strange web of communication they seemed to have developed was different from anything she'd experienced before. Still, she screamed in her head.
I need you. Help me. Luuuuuke!
Keira let Tony shove her forward. No one wandered the short hallway, and when Tony opened the door, no alarm sounded. The rear parking lot was deserted.
She stumbled into the warm, dry evening air. Dusk mixed with the smoke drifting from the fires at the ranch, and a gray tinge settled over the landscape, dulling all edges and colors like a muddy painting.
He opened the driver's door of a familiar Crown Victoria and shoved her across the bench seat toward the passenger's side. She glanced at the lock. At the door handle. She could run, shield herself and Mateo behind the other cars until someone came into the parking lot.
“Don't bother.” Tony pounded the lock on his door with a fist. “Your locks are disabled. You're not going anywhere.”
He fired up the engine, screeched out of the parking lot, and turned onto the main road, heading east. A sleepy desert town spread out to the west. Flat, barren land stretched in all other directions.
Luuuke!
FIVE
L
uke slammed a fist against the shower controls in the dinky hotel bathroom and swore when a pansy-ass stream of water emerged.
“What do you expect in the middle of bumfuck nowhere?” He shucked his clothes, trying like hell to keep his mind off the day's events.
Fire, explosions, mayhem: fine. Keira kissing another man: torture.
After testing the water temperature, he stepped under the wimpy spray and let go of the tension in his neck, his shoulders, his arms.
Luuuke!
He winced as Keira's terror-filled cry ricocheted around his brain, more distant than in that moment on the roof when he'd been frantically searching for her after the blast. But it still brought back the sight of her hanging off the edge, the fear tearing at him like that of a dream in which he'd been falling, only to wake just before he hit the ground, sweating, panting, heart jumping from his chest.
He closed his eyes and let his head drop back and under the water. And there she was, imprinted on the back of his eyelids—kissing Tony.
Anguish closed his throat around a groan. “Fuck me.”
His cell rang. He pushed the shower curtain aside and leaned out to grab it off the counter.
“What?” he barked, ready to take off the head of any unsuspecting victim.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” A female voice met his ear. A perturbed female voice. One he couldn't place. “Tell me you're stuck in traffic or make up some other elaborate excuse, 'cause I'm about as pissed as you sound right now.”
His mind tangled, searching for her identity. Since his mother had passed over a decade ago, his sister, Teague's first wife, had committed depression-induced suicide, and Keira had gone off in search of something better with the FBI, there were no constant women in his life. But there had been attempts, women he'd hoped to connect with in an effort to forget Keira. So many attempts. So many failures. And after seeing her today, he finally knew why.
“Um . . .” Instinct told him to tread lightly. “By the sound of your voice, I'd say I should be somewhere I'm not.”
A second of dark silence brought the tension back to his shoulders.
“Where are you?” she asked.
“I'm . . .” He had a feeling this was going to start World War III. “In Nevada.”
“Nevada?” she nearly screeched. “That's not even funny, Luke.”
“It's not meant to be funny,” he said, resigned to the fallout. This had happened many times over the last two years, since he'd begun dating again after returning Kat to Teague. After realizing Keira wasn't coming back. The arguments over the demands of his job, the lack of connection, of even the
desire
to connect with anyone. “I was dispatched to an incident here this morning. Have you been watching the news?”
“No. I've been getting ready for our date. Do Bon Jovi tickets mean anything to you? Front row center?” Her voice rose with anger. “I spent a week's pay on these tickets, Luke.”
Oh, shit.
That did mean something to him.
“Jesus, Carly, I'm sorry.” He closed his eyes and hung his head. Such a loser. “There's no way I can make it back in time.”
Nor did he have any inspiration to try. A really big fucking loser.
Silence.
The beginning of the end. He'd been here so many times.
“We're in the middle of nowhere.” He attempted to sound apologetic, but somehow the absurd disparity between his reality and hers—burning children versus Bon Jovi tickets—limited his depth of sympathy. “I've had lousy cell service and this is a damned war zone.”
Another extended silence followed by a long, drawn-out, frustrated sigh.
Luke leaned his forehead against the tile. He would have thrown in his near-death experience if he'd thought it would have mattered. He didn't. “Why don't you take your sister? Or your friend, what's her name, Sunny?”
“Summer.”
“Right, Summer.”
“Or maybe,” she said, her voice now cool, “I should take Damon. He's been after me for months.”
A tired, defeated laugh slipped out. Carly was an incredibly beautiful, intelligent woman who shared Luke's desire for children and a family. Yet, he couldn't summon even an ounce of jealousy.
“You know what? That's a great idea.”
A fucking fantastic idea.
“This obviously isn't working out for either of us. You and Damon have my blessing. Good-bye, Carly.”
Luke disconnected with a combination of remorse and relief, and tossed his phone on the counter. It clattered hard as he put his head back under the spray and ran the hotel soap over his hair and body.
The phone rang again and Luke growled. He didn't have the patience to go through the easy letdown. Couldn't summon the compassion he needed to justify the situation to an irate, hurt, emotional female. But guilt made him pick up his phone anyway.
“Ransom.” He sighed, watching the water drip off his body and onto the chipped linoleum floor.
Nothing.
He frowned, looked at the display. Still connected. He put the phone back to his ear and listened. A scrape. A whisper. The rustle of cloth.
Luke. Thank God.
The water layering his skin turned cold. Goosebumps rose on his arms.
“Hello?” he queried again, then, for a reason he couldn't explain, said, “Keira?”
“Yes.” The word came in barely a whisper, but the frightened tone drifted through loud and clear. “It's me.”
He hit the shower control and cut the water. “What's wrong?”
“I need you.” The words reverberated through his body like a mini-quake, and the desperation in her voice pumped his heart rate higher. “I couldn't call anyone else. It's Tony. He's not Tony. I mean, he's not who he says he is. He's not Mateo's father. I don't know—”
“Don't know what?”
“What's happening. You were right. Nothing about this is what it was made out to be. I need you to . . . Come get me, Luke. Mateo and me.”
“I'm coming. I'm there. Where are you?” He barely swiped a towel over his body before grabbing his jeans and pulling them on with one hand.
“I . . . Hell, I don't know. He took us from the hospital after you left. We've been heading east on back roads for about an hour. But it's dark and deserted and I can't see anything. Damn, Luke, I left all my weapons in the chopper. He has a gun and he's twice my size and he's trained and . . . I have Mateo . . .” She paused to drag in a shaky breath. “Luke, if I don't see you again . . .”
“Don't.” He forced the possibility from his head. “I'll find you.”
“I'm sorry I didn't stay. I'm sorry I didn't come back. I should have tried harder.”
His heart split open. “Jesus, Keira—”
“He's coming,” she whispered. “Luke, whatever you do, don't trust
anyone
.”
The other end of the line went quiet in Luke's ear.
“Keira?” He gripped the phone harder. “Keira!”
Those same sounds that had initiated the call now ended it, a murmur, a shuffle of fabric, then nothing. But the line didn't go dead. She'd left her phone on. Which meant it probably had GPS tracking.
“Damn,” he murmured. “You are one smart girl.”
He grabbed the hotel phone and connected to an outside line, then dialed the operator. As he waited, he set down his cell and threw belongings into his duffel with his free hand.
The operator came on the line.
“Yeah,” Luke said. His mind fragmented into a dozen pieces, his heart pounding too hard and too fast. “I need the number of the nearest—”
The words
FBI field office
never made it out of his mouth.
Don't trust anyone.
“Hello?” the operator queried.
“Uh . . . Never mind.”
He hung up. Stared at the phone. Who exactly did
anyone
encompass? Her boss? Her agency? He didn't know. But if Tony was supposed to be FBI and wasn't, if the incident had been taken over by the army, if it had included several different law enforcement agencies, there was no telling how deep the conspiracy went.
He needed help. Needed someone with connections. Someone who could get information. Who could elicit answers.
His mind calculated routes and miles and speeds. Tony had a good seventy-, eighty-minute jump on him. It would take him hours to catch up, even if he knew where he was going, which he didn't.
Without disconnecting his cell, he punched into the directory, searched until he found the number of the only person who had everything he needed, and dialed the hotel phone again.
“Mitch Foster,” the other man answered in a brisk business tone.
“Mitch, it's Luke.”
“Oh, it's only you. What number are you calling from?” Mitch didn't wait for an answer. “This better be important, Ransom, 'cause my Padres are spanking your Giants, and if I miss even one good pitch, I'm going to be pissed.”
“What the fuck? You're supposed to be on a plane.”
“I am. Haven't you ever heard of in-flight television? You really need to get out more, cop. There's even in-flight Internet nowadays, and—”
“There is no in-flight cell service. Where the hell are you?”
“On the tarmac, taxiing in. They're entertaining us through a delay at the gate with a rerun of the San Diego–San Francisco game, which I happened to miss last night because I was, shall we say,
entertaining
one very beautiful, enthusiastic young Harvard law student on break for an internship at—”
“I couldn't care less about your sex life, Foster.”
“You should pay more attention. Maybe you'd learn something.
Get
something once in a while. It would improve that constantly fucked mood—”
“You are such a prick. Under any other circumstances, I'd tell you to go screw yourself.” Luke cut off the casual banter he and Mitch typically exchanged. “But I need you to track a cell transmission. And I need you to do it fast.”
“Wait. Did you just tell me to go screw myself and then ask me for something?” Mitch let out a superior chuckle. The no-harm, no-foul ribbing usually entertained Luke. Not today. “And I'm supposed to care? Why aren't you turning to your fellow boys in blue to handle this?”
“Because I can't . . .”
Trust anyone
.
Mitch hesitated. “Are you still in Nevada?”
“Yes.”
“Whose phone?”
“Keira's.”
“Oh, my God.” Mitch drew out the words in disbelief. “You are stupid, Ransom. You get the chance to pull your head out of your ass and you screw it up. What idiotic stunt did you pull to send her running this time?”
The fact that Mitch knew every detail of Luke and Keira's history without ever having known them as a couple was a testament to how their pseudo-family operated. Everyone got into everyone else's business. And they all told each other how they felt about said business, whether any of them wanted to hear it or not. The only thing that kept the whole group from a bloody brawl was that each one of them knew the opinion was imparted in his or her own best interest.
“She's not running from me, asshole.” Luke's teeth ground as he searched for patience. “Someone abducted her.”
“Fucking A.” Mitch's voice lost all joviality. “This better not be a joke, Luke, or I'll pull your teeth out with a pair of rusty pliers.”
“Colorful. You've been practicing criminal law too long.”
The sound of paper crackled over the line. “Give me the number.”
Luke recited it. “She said she's been heading east of the incident on back roads for about an hour. Her cell is still on and connected to mine.”
“Why'd she call you? It sure as hell wasn't for a dose of your lousy charm. Why didn't she call the cops?”
“Do you really have to ask?”
“Goddammit,” he muttered. “I'll have a location for you in twenty minutes.”
“Make it ten, and, Mitch, I need one more thing.”
“You're a demanding SOB, Ransom. What?”
“A plane and a pilot.”
“That's two things, you stupid cop.”
 
Jocelyn Dargan paced the wall of windows in her office at the Department of Defense, arms crossed as she stared through the glass toward the lights of Arlington glittering against the night. Behind her, the wall-mounted flat screen continued to spit out the latest CNN news on the firestorm still raging out of control at Rostov's compound.

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