Double Cross (Hard Target Book 1) (8 page)

“We’ve noticed.” Tank stopped pushing Duke’s chair. “Those were American UVAs.”

Dropping to his haunches beside the chair, Dalton added, “And it wasn’t a friendly fire fuck-up.”

“What now, Duke?” Tank sounded lost, odd for the big man.

“I wish to hell I knew.”

TEN MONTHS. It took him ten months to finally park his ass at the bar in Mother Goose’s. The first three of those months he barely remembered. The other seven were spent dealing with blood, sweat, and finally tears. By a long and circuitous route, Duke had found his way back to Key West.

“Here. Have a glass of self-pity.” Mother herself slid a glass of scotch in front of Duke. He knew what she was doing by the sound of glass scraping on wood and the smoky scent of the alcohol.

“Not what I’m drinking.” He couldn’t even work up the energy to reach for the sweating beer bottle at his elbow. The jukebox added to his pissy mood by playing Cole Swindell’s “Ain’t Worth the Whiskey.” And wasn’t that the damn truth.

“Oh? Could have fooled me.”

“Dammit, Mother. I didn’t come in here for this crap.”

“Then get your ass off my barstool and get the hell out, Duke.”

“I’m fucking blind, Mother.”

“Yeah, and?” There was no pity in the relentless woman’s tone. “Bear, get your butt over here. This whiny-ass SEAL needs an escort to the door.”

The big bartender clapped his hand on Duke’s shoulder, but he shook it off. Raising his head, Duke turned in the direction of Mother’s voice. “Did I piss in your Wheaties or something? I’m not a SEAL anymore. The Navy gets all twisted up when their snipers can’t see their fucking target.”

“Yeah, and? Getting damn tired of repeating myself so you better listen to me, Duke Reagan. You can sit there like some crippled, bitter piece of shit, or you can stiffen your spine and do what it takes to get your life back.”

“What part of what I just said did you not understand, old woman? Blind. Sniper. Not a SEAL.” His words dropped into a well of silence as the jukebox picked that moment to stop playing music. Thank God it was early afternoon and if there were any customers, they wouldn’t be paying attention. Maybe.

Glass clinked on glass, liquid glugged, and clothes rustled. He heard Mother swallow. “Drink your scotch, Duke.”

“Still not what I’m drinkin’.”

Someone fired up the jukebox and Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar” blared from the speakers. Duke used to love this bar. At the moment, the idea of trashing it sounded like a good plan.

Mother scooted her stool closer and leaned against his shoulder so she could speak into his ear. “If you could get your eyesight back, what would you do?”

What the fuck?
He jerked away from her. “Not possible.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Every gawddamn doctor in Brooke Med Center, Walter Reed, and you name the Naval hospital in between all say the same thing. I’m fucked.”

“Huh.”

“You don’t sound impressed.”

“I’m not. Excuses. That’s all you’ve got. Plus, I know things you don’t, Duke.” Mother leaned on the bar, and he could feel the heat from her skin as she whispered in his ear. “Did you ever wonder about that last mission?”

He stiffened but schooled his expression, saying nothing.

“Yeah. Thought you might be curious. You need to see my doctor. And when you have your sight back, I want you back here. Your job ain’t over, Duke, not by a long shot. You’re in pitiful shape. Better than when you got out of the hospital, but you’ve got a long way to go. First things first. Eyes. The rest will come after that.”

He heard her fingers tapping on the bar, and her silence stretched his patience to the breaking point. Still, he waited, despite the thudding of his heart. Was she thinking of hiring him to work the bar? What else could she mean? He kept his mouth shut. If he’d learned nothing else about Mother, it was she did things in her own way and in her own time.

“What if I told you the Tank and Cali Boy were still alive?”

“Bullshit. They died. I got the call. Fuckin’ Navy separated them. Different assignments. Both missions went south. They shouldn’t have been apart. We’ve been together since—” He bit off the explanation. Only a select few knew about the labs under Area 51 in Nevada, knew about the genetic and surgical enhancements made to the original members of Atlantis. He was the lone survivor. “Navy left ’em hanging with nobody to cover their sixes. They weren’t even assigned to SEAL teams.”

“So you were told.” Mother’s quiet voice dropped into his boiling pool of angry frustration.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means they’re alive. It means they’re working for me.”

Duke sat in stunned silence.

“Working for you? Here at the bar?”

“Not exactly. I’ll brief you soon, Duke, once I hear back from the doc. Just believe me when I say I have a place for a man with your…
talents
.” She raised her voice to bellow above the music, “Bear, take Duke to Doc Pemberton’s office.”

“You think this is a done deal?”

“Of course it is. You want to see again. I need a sniper.”

“
You
need a sniper. What the hell? Who the fuck are you, Mother?”

“I’m your worst nightmare. And your best friend. We have the world to save. You with me?”

He didn’t know what to say. He should ask for proof about Dalton and Tank. He should ask why an old broad who owned a bar in Key West needed a military-trained sniper. And he probably should be worried that she was insinuating she knew more about his special physiology than she should. Those were all valid questions and he needed the answers, yet when he opened his mouth, only two words came out.

“Hell, yeah.”

“Good. Bear! Get ’im over t’doc’s, pronto.”

Damn but he hated relying on anyone, but he hated the fucking white cane even more. Duke wasn’t a small guy by any stretch of the imagination, but Bear put the big in huge. He had to be at least six-six if not taller, with a barrel chest, shoulders so wide he had to walk through a normal door sideways, and arms that’d make Popeye jealous. The guy had worked at Mother’s for as long as Duke could remember. Bartender. Bouncer. And now Seeing Eye Dog. He fumbled his hand against Bear’s arm in the attempt to find his shoulder.

“Not happenin’, Duke. Gimme your frickin’ hand.” A moment later, Duke’s palm was secured against the top of Bear’s forearm just below his bent elbow. “You’ll feel my movements better with your hand here, and I don’t give a damn if your pansy ass is embarrassed. We got three blocks to walk.”

Duke concentrated on sounds, smells, the number of steps and turns because they sure didn’t walk three straight blocks. Every time there was an obstacle, Bear patiently warned him. “Curb down.” “Step up.” “Coeds.” He figured that last one was supposed to make him lighten up.

“Who the hell is Mother, Bear?”

The big man laughed. “She’s just who she said—your best friend and worst nightmare.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know. Look, Duke, until you’re signed on officially and Mother has given you the full briefing, I can’t say much.”

Duke chewed on that for a while. Bear stopped him, and he listened as traffic went by both directions on the street. He gave it another try.

“Why is Mother doing this?” He gestured with his free hand to indicate his eyes followed by a vague wave to indicate himself.

He felt the big man shrug then they started walking again. “You gonna live on pity and VA disability?” Bear’s scorn came through loud and clear. “Bottom line, you need to make money. But even more important, you need to know, Duke. You need to know what happened on your last mission.”

Bear stopped, tugging him to a stop as well. “What would you do, Duke, if you found out what went down? If you find out the truth? What would you do with it?”

“If I ever found it? And it’s as bad as you and Mother seem to think? You don’t want to know, Bear. Twenty-five to life, if they took me alive after.”

“First things first. Once Doc Pemberton restores your sight and you start training with the team, Mother will see that you get your shot.”

“Team? What team?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“Dammit, who the fuck
is
she, Bear?”

“A woman with friends in all sorts of places, and the brains behind a multinational commando team. You still want in?”

“Oh, hell yeah!”

“Then get your ass up these four steps and proceed six steps across the porch to the door. It’s time to face the rest of your life.”

“I’m ready. I want the truth, and the justice that goes with it.”

“I figured as much. So did Mother and Mother always knows best.”

“Well, happy frickin’ Mother’s Day, then.”

CORY FOLLOWED her friend Angela into the bar. Mother Goose’s. She hadn’t been back to Key West since a previous trip right after she’d graduated from medical school. Stopping just inside the doors, she looked around. The place definitely didn’t match her preconceived notions. A long bar hugged one wall. Neon lights flashed on a jukebox located next to a small stage with a karaoke machine. Tables dotted a scuffed wooden floor and booths lined the far wall.

Angie dragged her to the only empty table—one back in the far corner. Good for Cory, but its location upset Ang. She wanted to be front and center. “We are getting laid tonight, Cory, no matter what it takes.”

“Speak for yourself.” Cory muttered the words, knowing she wouldn’t be heard over the pounding beat of the music.

A waitress appeared and slapped two coasters on the table. “Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Frozen margarita, extra salt,” Angie chirped happily. “And those two guys sitting at the bar.”

The waitress laughed. “They’re on special tonight, a dime a dozen.” She glanced to Cory. “How ’bout you, hon? What can I bring ya?”

“Just a Coke, please.”

“Designated driver?”

“No,” Angie interrupted. “We’re walking. Bring her a margarita too.” She stuck out her tongue before returning her gaze to the two men at the bar. One of them returned her interest with a wink.

Cory managed to hide her sigh. This was going to be a long night. And a big mistake on her part. What possessed her to fly to Key West with Angie for the weekend? Insanity. That had to be it. She had no other explanation—or excuse. Where she’d had fun on Key West as a care-free graduate, now she just felt out of place, and far too jaded for bar games.

Once their drinks arrived, Angie wasted no time. She gulped half of hers then headed to the bar as something sultry started to play. She pulled the guy who’d winked at her onto the dance floor and did what she did best—party.

Cory shifted further back into the corner. She tasted her margarita, puckering at its tartness. She tried another sip as her gaze roamed the room, and she promptly choked. Sputtering, she grabbed a handful of napkins from the metal holder on the table.

It couldn’t be. The man sitting alone at the end of the bar could not be Duke Reagan. No way. He sat, hands wrapped around a sweating beer bottle, eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Broad shoulders, strong profile, but a frame lankier than she remembered. He turned and she caught his full face. Her chest constricted. It
was
Duke. She glimpsed the white cane folded on the bar next to his arm and her heart broke a little.

She’d tried to visit him several times in the hospital. When his doctors refused to let her see him, she’d managed to sneak into his room a few times. Then she was told Duke had placed her on a “no-visit” list. Calling in favors from other colleagues, she kept up with his rehabilitation until he’d been released. He dropped out of sight after that, and she’d lost track of him. But now, here he sat in a Key West bar improbably named Mother Goose’s.

Wondering if she should go over to speak to him, she delayed action by gulping down her margarita. A second one magically appeared, along with the man who delivered it. He snagged a chair, turned it backwards and straddled it.

“This isn’t a pickup,” he began.

Cory arched a brow, not believing him for an instant. “All right.”

He grinned around a sexy chuckle. “No, really. We—” He gestured toward the three men sitting two tables away. “Noticed that you’ve been watching the guy at the end of the bar.”

The man had her full attention now. “You know him?”

“Yeah, you can say that. You should know, he’s blind.”

She wasn’t about to reveal her past history with Duke. “I noticed the cane.”

“Good. Because he doesn’t need someone who’ll lead him on, only to lose interest because he can’t see.”

“Oh? What does he need?”

The guy chuckled again. “He needs to get laid, but trying to convince him of that is like building a snowman in hell.”

“Are you suggesting I offer your friend a pity fuck?” Cory straightened up as heat flushed her cheeks. She’d never spoken so…bluntly and wondered if her blush was caused by her coarse language or the fact that this man thought she was a woman who would do something like that.

Holding his hands palms out in a surrendering gesture, the man stood. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything at all. Just…Duke’s a good guy. I don’t want him to get played, s’all.”

He returned to his table, and Cory fought the urge to run. She knew how this night would end. Angie would dance with just about every man in the room, including the four men who knew Duke, all the while drinking far more than was good for her. Then she would make her pick and abandon Cory to her own devices. In the meantime, she’d have to sit here avoiding attempted pickups and ignoring the men who even now watched her with undisguised curiosity.

She refused to drink the margarita the guy bought her, and when the waitress circled around, she asked again for a Coke. This time she got it. Sipping the cold soda through a straw, her eyes strayed again and again to Duke. Was she brave enough to approach him? Would he remember her? Did she want him to?

So much had happened to them in those days they’d spent in forced company. Cory was smart enough to assign her feelings to the adrenaline and the situation at the time. Duke had saved her life. She’d saved his. They should be even. But all these months later she still wondered what it would be like to kiss him when there was no danger, to feel his erection pressed against her…in her.

Goosebumps dotted her arms, and she shivered. She’d dreamed of being held by him again, feeling his lips on hers, his rough beard abrading her skin as he took her. Closing her eyes, she relived the sensation of him lying along her back, his erection pressing against her bottom, of sitting in the curve of his lap, his arms holding her to his chest as his lips fastened on hers.

Pressing her knees and thighs together, she curled her hips against the sensations building between her legs. She wasn’t a virgin, but most of her experience seemed rather
clinical
compared to the memories she held of Duke, of being held
by
Duke.

Her memories from college didn’t turn her on like those that tantalized and teased her when she remembered the time spent with Duke. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, Duke no longer occupied the stool at the end of the bar. She caught a glimpse of his back exiting through the front door.

She chewed her bottom lip, indecision keeping her glued to her chair. She’d never been assertive when it came to men and chasing after him now felt wrong somehow. Fingers snapping in front of her face jerked back into the present. Cory looked up. Angie, a man’s arms draped around her waist, stood beside the table, laughing.

“I’m going back to the room. Stay out late, ’kay?”

Before she could protest, Angie and her man-of-the-moment were gone. Cory sighed and considered her options. Why couldn’t Angie have gone to the guy’s room? Let his roommate be inconvenienced. Her head began to throb with the beat from the music. At least the weather was nice. She could go find a bench somewhere and settle in to people watch for the night.

The waitress appeared with a plate of conch fritters and a large, icy bowl of peel-and-eat shrimp. Cory blinked up at her. “Oh…I didn’t order these.”

“Your tab is on the house, hon, courtesy of Mother.”

Glancing around the bar, in what she hoped was a surreptitious manner, Cory attempted to locate and identify her benefactor. The bartender was a huge man, rough looking and gruff. An older woman stood next to him. Cory guessed her to be in her mid-fifties, maybe a bit older. Close-cropped silver hair capped a no-nonsense face. Both the man and woman turned their gazes on her and Cory froze. Were they talking about her? She hated being under anyone’s scrutiny and the tips of her ears began to burn. Thankfully, she managed to keep her natural tendency for full-facial blushing at bay.

While she ate, a couple of men came over and attempted to get her to dance, or wanted to join her. When one didn’t take no for an answer, the bartender arrived. He looked even more massive up close—at least six and a half feet tall and likely 300 pounds. Her unwelcome guest skedaddled without a word.

“You shouldn’t have any more trouble, miss.” The big guy winked and wove gracefully, despite his bulk, through the crowd back to the bar.

Midnight arrived and disappeared. Cory remained fascinated by the people in the place—the games they played, their conversations and interactions. As time passed, her little corner fell into shadow, and she settled in to wait. If she got lucky, by the time the bar closed, Angie would have kicked out her
guest
, and Cory could go to bed.

The music on the jukebox mellowed, as did the crowd. These people looked more like natives than tourists. She could actually hear people’s conversations now, not that she was eavesdropping or anything. Two more men joined the three who knew Duke—two men she vaguely recognized from Africa.

Shrinking deeper into the shadows, she tried to tune out their conversation but couldn’t when the big man she recognized from Africa said Duke’s name.

“Duke’s still not sleeping, and when he does, her name always crops up.”

“Who is she?” That from the man who’d approached her earlier.

“He calls her
princess.
” The second man interrupted, his upper lip curled in disdain. “When he was unconscious in the hospital right after he was injured, same thing. He believes she saved his life but the bitch damn sure disappeared on him.” He glanced toward the larger man. “Dude, I don’t care what he says. She betrayed him.”

Cory huddled in her chair, head down, trying to be as small as possible. Considering the shape she’d been in, Duke’s teammates might not recognize her. His next words chilled her.

“And I’m pretty damn sure he hates her for it.”

After the group left, Cory slipped away. The skin on her back itched as she ducked through the front door. Someone had watched her leave. Peeking through the window, she caught the bartender staring back at her. Distressed both by the things that man said about her and the bartender’s expression, she all but trotted down the sidewalk.

Back at the hotel, the Do Not Disturb sign hung on doorknob, and the privacy lock was set. She returned to the lobby, found a chair that might be comfortable in the corner behind some miniature palm trees, and dug a paperback out of her messenger bag. She’d just lose herself in a romance because, at the rate she was going, she’d certainly never find any in her real life.

The next afternoon, she ventured back to Mother Goose’s. Despite a pep talk designed to convince herself of the stupidity of her actions, she settled a booth in the farthest, darkest corner. Ordering a burger and fries with a Coke, she read and waited. Late-afternoon, she was rewarded. Duke arrived, unassisted, and looking angry that he had to rely on the white cane to maneuver through the tables to get to the same barstool he’d occupied the previous night.

The bartender set a cold bottle of beer in front of him.

“Thanks, Bear.”

“How much longer, Duke?”

“Not sure. I can’t get a straight answer.”

Laughing, the bartender slapped Duke’s shoulder and almost unseated him, though Duke didn’t seem to mind. Cory leaned on the table to get a better view and watched while Duke drank his beer. She debated various ways to approach him. She had an insane need to talk to him, to find out for herself how he was doing, and if he really hated her. At the same time, every part of her that was feminine wanted to know him on that deep level shared only by lovers. If he did hate her, she’d risk a one-time fling with her being incognito.

She practiced various accents in her head, finally came up with the idea to simply lower her voice and attempt to be more casual in her speech. Angie constantly teased her about sounding like a professor. It had been a year. Surely he wouldn’t remember her voice. Gathering her courage, she finished off the Coke in her glass and slid out of the booth. Doing her best to act casual, she approached the bar.

“Hi,” she purred, rather proud of herself. “May I get a refill?” She set her empty glass on the bar.

Bear tossed her a “what the hell, lady?” look but filled a clean glass with ice and topped it off with Coke from the bar’s soda gun. “Here ya go, hon. I’ll put it on your tab.”

“Thank you.” She glanced at Duke and realized he was listening, his head cocked in her direction. “Hi,” she murmured, keeping her voice soft and low.

“You talking to me?”

“Uh huh.”

“Why?”

Cory rocked back, her expression twisting into one of confusion. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You a pro?”

She sputtered in outrage. “I…why would you think that?”

“Because you’re talking to me.”

“Well, excuse me. I saw a nice looking man sitting by himself at the bar, and I thought I’d say hello. I didn’t mean to interrupt your party for one.”

“Did Dalton put you up to this?”

“Who’s Dalton?”

“What would you do if I said my boyfriend?”