Hunted (16 page)

As the streetcar began to slow at their stop Matt could already see the emergency vehicles parked along the curb out front of the hotel. He followed Rycroft through the police perimeter and into the lobby.

A wall of noise hit him, generated by hundreds of conversations going on at once. Groups of people stood around talking on the polished marble floor and in the adjoining lounge. A few were watching the cops proceedings with interest, but from everyone’s relaxed body language Matt got the sense that nobody knew what was going on. His muscles loosened.

Beside him, Rycroft scanned the lobby, and his eyes locked on something—or someone—across the room. The NSA agent stilled.

Matt turned his head in time to see a young woman wearing a black skirt suit standing near the elevators. She was staring straight at Rycroft.

“Will you excuse me for a minute?” Rycroft said.

Matt watched as Rycroft walked to the woman. He stopped close to her, bent his head when she leaned up to whisper something to him. He drew back, frowned, said something, and the brunette answered. Whatever she said, Rycroft didn’t like it.

Mouth pressed into a thin line, the NSA officer took the woman by the arm and led her back across the lobby toward Matt. It was clear from her stiff posture that she wasn’t thrilled about coming over, but Rycroft wasn’t giving her a choice.

Matt watched her as they approached. She appeared to be in her mid or maybe late twenties, and she was a knockout. Too young for him, but he could still appreciate a beautiful woman when he saw one. She had dark caramel skin, deep brown eyes and near-black hair that fell to the middle of her back in gentle waves that curled at the ends. When she and Rycroft stopped in front of him he started to offer his hand then changed his mind at the last second when he saw the expression in her eyes.

A flicker of wariness and mistrust before she went back to being a blank slate. The eyes of someone who’d experienced a lot of bad shit, up close and personal. It made him even more curious about her, and her connection to Rycroft. Then he noticed the way her gaze cut over to Rycroft, and Matt clearly read the earnestness in her posture. Whatever she’d told him, it was urgent and she wanted to act.

The other man was grim, all business. “Wait here for a few minutes. I’ll be right back,” he said to her, leaving her standing stiffly before Matt as he walked away at a brisk pace toward the elevators and disappeared inside one.

Matt intended to find out what the hell was going on, but for now the woman was clearly uncomfortable and he wanted to put her at ease. “I’m Matt,” he said.

She nodded, the motion stiff as she scanned the room. On edge, as though she was looking for another threat. Or maybe expecting one. “B.”

Okay, so not very talkative. Matt followed her gaze, searching the lobby, but nothing tripped his internal radar. He didn’t like it, because he knew damn well there was something big going on behind the scenes that he was unaware of. “B as in the name Bea? Or as in the initial?”

Those espresso brown eyes met his for a moment, not a hint of warmth or humor there. “Just B.”

Alrighty then.
Not very friendly, either. “So what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she answered, her tone crisp. Nothing about her radiated concern or fear, but he could tell she was still on alert. Matt wanted to know why.

He studied her face, trying to figure out what mix of heritages made up her features but couldn’t say for sure and there was no discernable trace of an accent in her voice. She sounded pure American, could have been born and raised anywhere in the heartland. Where were her parents from? From her looks it could have been anywhere from Pakistan or India to maybe Fiji.

A long, tense silence spread between them. He tried to come up with something to say to fill the void, not one of his specialties but he wanted to see how much information she’d give him. Although he could already guess. “So you work with Alex?”

She looked at him again, her gaze so intense it probably intimidated most men. Unfortunately for her, he and most of the others at this conference didn’t fall under the pussy umbrella. “No.”

He bit back a chuckle at her brusqueness and opened his mouth to say something else, just to see what she’d do, but her phone rang. She checked the message, her mouth flattening into a thin line of what could only be distaste.

“I’m supposed to take you up to the tenth floor to meet Alex,” she said to him, sounding none too happy about it.

“Good, let’s go.” He was anxious to get answers. He followed her to the elevators, endured more resolute silence from her as they rode to the tenth floor. Agents from various agencies filled the alcove where the elevators were. They checked Matt’s ID but not hers, which he found interesting, and let them through.

“This way,” B said to him, not bothering to look back as she turned left and marched down the hallway that was also manned by armed agents. “Down there,” she finished, pointing to the third room on the left where the door stood open, guarded by more agents.

Matt passed her and headed for the room, arriving just as Rycroft stepped out and acknowledged him with a nod. “What’s up?” Matt asked. Whatever had happened in that room, it was a big deal.

Rather than answer, Rycroft tilted his head toward the room and stepped aside to let Matt see inside. He was shocked to see a whole FBI forensics team there, gathering evidence. A young man of Hispanic descent was lying on the floor staring at the ceiling, a single bullet hole gracing the center of his forehead, and Matt suddenly understood why Rycroft had wanted him up here.

He whipped his head around to glance over at the NSA agent, who was on his phone to someone. “Part of the Juarez cell?” he guessed.

Rycroft nodded and went back to his conversation. A few seconds later he put his phone away and faced B, who was waiting a few yards down the hallway. She had her arms folded across her chest, standing absolutely still, her expression blank as a clean whiteboard. Was she staying at a distance so she wouldn’t have to put up with more small talk from him? Or maybe the dead body bothered her, but he didn’t think so. Her eyes had told him she was no stranger to seeing death.

Rycroft nodded to her once, the gesture almost one of approval. “It’s taken care of.”

She stared at him for a long moment, opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then closed it and relented with a nod. Uncrossing her arms, she brushed her hands down the front of her skirt, smoothing the fabric in a gesture that seemed like an afterthought. “You’ll be in touch?” she asked him.

“Yes.”

She glanced at Matt, looked at him for less than a heartbeat, then walked away, her high heels soundless in the carpeted hallway.

Matt watched her walk away, his gaze sticking on her mile-long legs before he looked back at Rycroft. “Who was that?”

The man gave him a hard smile. “I could tell you, but then she’d have to kill you.”

Under the circumstances Matt didn’t know whether to laugh or not, but it didn’t seem like the guy was joking, so he let it drop. “Gonna tell me what happened?”

Rycroft’s gaze cut back to the body on the floor. “He was one of the militants directly financed by the man we talked about earlier. Managed to get past the security measures in place under a false identity, and somebody helped him smuggle a small arsenal of automatic weapons and explosives into his room. From what we can tell, he and his pals were going to try to pull off a Mumbai-style attack and blow up the hotel.” He shrugged. “There’d been some recent chatter that the cell might try and pull off some kind of an attack here, so we came prepared.”

They sure as hell had come prepared—they had an FBI team on standby, already doing their thing.

Matt nodded, finding the idea of the attack alarming, but not surprising. In his experience, terrorists weren’t afraid of dying, and the man growing cold in there right now must have known he wouldn’t walk away from whatever he’d planned here. Not with this kind of crowd in attendance. Security at the hotel was tight, and thankfully the attendees were staying at various hotels in the area so they weren’t all lumped together in one big, juicy target.

The sheer ballsyness of the plan was cause for concern though. “Any more intel about further attacks?”

“Nope. All taken care of now.” He nodded toward the body. “He was the leader of the group. It’ll take the others too long to reorganize for them to be able to pull off the attack now.”

“Who took him out?”

“Can’t tell you.”

Matt frowned. He had top security clearance. If Rycroft couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell him, then only a few people within the intelligence community knew about the hit. Matt glanced down the hallway to look for B, but she was already gone. “So B, or whatever her name is. She’s an agent?”

Rycroft half-smirked. “Something like that. But not one of mine,” he said evasively.

That left a whole slew of possibilities, each more intriguing than the last. There was a helluva lot more to her than met the eye, that was for sure, Matt thought as he walked with Rycroft back toward the elevators. Whatever the truth about her was, he had a feeling it would surprise the hell out of him.

Clay stepped out of the shadows of the arched brick entryway and onto the sidewalk, casting a cursory look around before Zoe joined him. The foot traffic on the street was relatively quiet right now. A few couples and small groups were strolling along but he didn’t see anything suspicious.

He heard Zoe’s quiet footfalls on the brick behind him, then the squeak of the gate. She stepped up beside him, her soft floral-and-musk scent teasing him. That dress hugged every sexy curve she had, the dark fabric stark against her pale skin. Her purple-streaked, black hair was pulled up on top into two little pigtails while the rest was left free to stream down her back. Her lush, full lips were covered in a deep red gloss that made them all shiny and made him want a taste. The darkening bruise on her face made him want to kiss it away.

Last night hadn’t been nearly enough. Not for either of them, he hoped. He could still hear the sexy sounds she’d made for him as she’d rocked against his fingers in a desperate struggle for release. A release he wanted to witness again, only next time, while he was buried deep inside her.

With effort, he mentally switched gears back to the present. “Did you reach her?” he asked. She’d said she would call Celida about the local CCTV footage right after talking to her parents, and he’d stepped outside to give her some privacy.

“No. She’ll call me back when she gets my text.” She took a look around at the street, and while he was glad she was taking extra care to be aware of her surroundings, he hated that she was feeling nervous because some asshole had tried to get into her place this morning. He wanted to put her at ease, make her feel secure again.

And anyone thinking of targeting her was going to have to get through him first.

Wanting to touch her, reassure her, Clay wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her close to his side. She glanced up at him in surprise at the gesture, then flashed him a sweet smile that hit him straight in the center of his chest and slid her arm around his waist. “I like this,” she murmured.

He liked it too. Too much. She was already further under his skin than he’d let any woman since Eve. Yet even with her he’d held part of himself back. With Zoe, he felt like he could truly be himself. And if he didn’t get them moving, he was going to drag her back around the corner into her courtyard, pin her to the rough brick wall and put his hands and mouth all over her until she was desperate to have him inside her.

Damn. “Come on.”

The September sun shone bright in the clear blue sky, its heat reflecting off the sidewalk. A slight breeze stirred the air, bringing with it the scents of chicory coffee and pastries from the bakery down the street. They stopped in and grabbed a bite to eat. Zoe convinced him to buy a beignet, a square French donut coated in powdered sugar.

“These aren’t the same as the ones at Café du Monde, but I actually think they’re better because they’re less greasy and not as messy to eat.” She dug one out of the white paper bag and held it out for him to taste.

He leaned down and took a bite of the still-warm pastry. Her eyes went all smoky when he slowly closed his teeth around the edge of it, holding her gaze. He nipped off a piece and straightened, the sugary confection bursting on his tongue.

“Good?” she asked, her voice husky.

He hummed in agreement and licked the residual sugar from his lips, stilling when she slid her tongue across her lower lip as though she wanted to do the licking for him. The thought of that glossy red mouth beneath his, moving down his naked chest and stomach, her kneeling in front of him to unzip his pants while he threaded his hands in her hair and drew her toward his straining cock…

It felt like every drop of blood in his body had just diverted to his groin. Now he was sporting the mother of all erections and had no way to hide it. They were in the middle of the bakery, for godsake. “Let’s go,” he said, more gruffly than he’d intended.

Zoe didn’t seem bothered by his tone. She reached into the bag for her own beignet, contentedly sipping her coffee as they exited the shop. On the sidewalk he kept her to the inside, away from the street. She slipped up close to his side again, her shoulder brushing his chest, and offered a little smile of encouragement. Biting back a chuckle at the adorable request for physical contact, he slid an arm around her shoulders once again.

“Ever been inside the cathedral?” she asked as they neared Jackson Square. A jazz band was performing out front for the crowd assembled next to the impressive church. The ring of a trumpet blended with the deeper notes of a tuba, rising into the clear air.

“No.”

“I’ll have to take you in later. The interior’s really something. Gorgeous stained glass windows, marble floors, beautiful murals.”

He looked down at her in surprise. “I didn’t take you for the church-going type.”