Jordan Summers (6 page)

She walked into the room as the phone rang. Delaney knew who it was before answering. “Carter,” she said.

Roger McMillan’s voice boomed on the other end of the line. “Where in the hell have you been? Why is your cell off? I’ve been calling for over an hour.”

“Having dinner with Jack Gordon.” That shut him up for a second. She wasn’t about to mention the kiss. Strangely, it seemed far too personal to drag into the case.

“Excellent,” he said finally, “because we have a problem. We’ve received intel from our street contacts that the shipment has been moved up by a day or so. The potential buyers that we know about are on the move. It’s the unknown quantities that have us concerned.”

Delaney plopped into the chair in front of the desk. “What do you mean it’s been ‘moved up’? We only had two weeks to begin with and half that time I’ve spent training to be a flight attendant.”

“I’m sorry the criminals are screwing with your schedule, Agent Carter. Would you like me to phone them and ask for an extension?” Papers shuffled and she heard the scrawling of a pen in the background.

“No, sir.”

“Well that’s good, since I don’t have them on speed dial. Did you get the file on David Rico?”

“Yes, I received it. What’s our next move with him?”

“We don’t have one. His name popped as a potential in, but since he’s so low on the food chain we won’t act unless absolutely necessary. Now where are we with Jack Gordon?”

Delaney ran a hand through her hair. “Not far. Despite the fact we had dinner, he’s a hard man to pin down. He books multiple flights, so I’ve missed him once. I got lucky this last time.” Her face heated as she remembered exactly how lucky she’d been.

“Do I need to remind you how important this is to the bureau? People’s safety is at stake. Special-Agent-in-Charge Anderson is threatening to take over the investigation. Whatever Gordon did to him in the past, he hasn’t forgotten it. He wants to take him down, along with the people behind the shipment. We’re working on identifying the players, but with so many arms dealers in the country, it’s like trying to play pin the tail on the donkey in the dark.”

Delaney heard a noise in the background and knew he’d set down his coffee cup. She steeled herself, blocking out the pleasure she’d experienced moments ago. “I’m well aware of the importance of locating the shipment and stopping the weapons before they’ve been transported. I’ve made plans to meet with Gordon tomorrow night.” Jack’s face flashed in her mind and desire filled her once more.

“Do whatever it takes to get close to him.”

Delaney pictured her and Jack, bodies intertwined. That wasn’t what McMillan meant. Was it? Of course not. She shook her head to rid herself of the carnal image.

“We need to know about this shipment and if he’s involved in any capacity.”

“What if he isn’t?” she asked, recalling the fact that Jack mentioned his retirement over dinner. He could be lying. She almost wished that he was, since it would make things so much easier, but Delaney didn’t think so.

“Then Gordon will know who is and we’ll use that information. Hopefully that will be enough to get Anderson off his back. The man’s practically turned Gordon into his personal crusade.”

“Have you uncovered any information about Gordon’s past gun sales yet?”

“I’ve only managed to trace the past five years of his activities, but I’ll keep trying.”

She sighed. She had to know the truth. The sooner the better. Speculation only fueled her frustration.

“You don’t have a problem with using Jack, do you?” McMillan asked. “If you do, I need to know now.”

Guilt surged through her. Delaney couldn’t seem to swallow past the lump clogging her throat. She knew if she said the wrong thing McMillan would yank her from the case. Her promotion was riding on her success, along with her career. Delaney refused to acknowledge the possibility that there was now more going on here than an assignment.

“No, sir.” Her voice hitched. “I don’t have a problem using him.”

“Spoken like a true GS7 agent,” he growled, slamming the phone down.

D
ELANEY WATCHED
the sun creep over the hotel and pierce the ocean waves, turning the gray water to silver. Her eyes burned as she sipped the pungent coffee she’d made hours earlier. In a short time, she’d have to be at the airport and ready to board her flight.

The thought of facing one hundred and thirty-seven passengers with a smile affixed to her face made her want to hurl. This job could not be over soon enough. Too bad that wasn’t what had kept her awake all night.

Jack Gordon’s face flashed before her. Delaney had replayed their kiss in her mind repeatedly. She’d slowed it down, sped it up and even switched angles to catch the subtle nuances. No matter how she viewed the embrace, she’d been unable to diminish its impact.

Even now, she could still taste Jack on her lips. Brushing her teeth hadn’t helped. Her mouth practically tingled in remembrance. She groaned in frustration and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair.

She stared at the shoreline, watching a few runners out for their early morning jog. If she weren’t so exhausted, she’d join them. Her gaze scanned the beach, straining to see the shoreline to the south. Somewhere out there a cache of weapons waited for the bad guys to ship them. The questions were: Who was behind the deal, how would they move them and where were they now?

If she knew those three answers, she wouldn’t need to involve Jack Gordon at all.

Was it her fault that he’d put himself in this position? Had Jack decided against selling guns for a living, she wouldn’t be having this conversation with herself. She also would not have spent half the night dreaming about him, reliving the kiss, imagining what it would feel like to have his muscled body moving on top of hers. Instead, she would’ve experienced the real thing.

That last image had woken her from a sound sleep and left her aching. Delaney hadn’t slept since. She glanced at the clock. Six blinked back. She sighed. Soon it would be time to throw on her imaginary cape and become “Super Stew.”

J
ACK TURNED OVER
and punched his pillow. He was hard again. Not an unusual phenomena in the morning, but he’d been like this all night—ever since he’d kissed Delaney Carson. It had been a long time since he wanted a woman this bad. In fact, Jack couldn’t recall
ever
craving a woman like this.

Twice he’d woken and had to take matters into his own hands. That alone had shocked him, since it would’ve been easy enough to make a phone call and have someone join him for the night. Trouble was, he didn’t want just anyone in his bed. He wanted Delaney Carson.

He chose not to look too closely at why. He had a feeling he wasn’t ready to face that answer just yet. Jack glanced down his body. There was no mistaking his need. He threw the sheets back and padded naked to the bathroom adjacent to the master suite. He turned all the body jets on to full cold, then stepped under the spray, hoping the water beat his erection into submission.

The temperature took his breath away and eventually had the desired effect on his body. Jack shut the shower off and grabbed a nearby towel from the heated rack. He watched the news on the screen behind his bathroom mirror as he shaved.

“Homeland Security raised their threat level today. According to sources, an unidentified group are attempting to smuggle in weapons and the items necessary to build a dirty bomb,” the news anchor said, before adding, “attempts to confirm this information are inconclusive.”

Jack snorted. “Big surprise there.” For a moment, he considered checking with a few old sources to find out if the threat was real. In the end, Jack decided against that brash move. He was out of the business and he planned to stay out.

He hit a button and the screen dimmed. The car he’d hired to take him to the airport should be here within an hour. Jack’s chest tightened at the thought of seeing Delaney tonight. He could still taste her sweetness on his lips. It was as tantalizing as the woman herself.

Jack glanced down at the front of the tented towel wrapped around his waist and cursed. If he didn’t get his body under control soon, by the time he got her naked he’d embarrass himself.

“Enough already,” he said, hoping this time his body listened.

D
AVID
R
ICO SAT
behind his desk in an Aeron chair, tapping on the keyboard until the numbers he sought appeared on his flat-screen computer monitor. Those seven digits brought a smile to his face as he sat back and peered out the window at the dazzling Pacific Ocean.

In a few days, he would be a very rich man, permanently establishing himself in the world of arms trafficking. The weapons would arrive in Long Beach tomorrow via tanker. It would take a couple of days to ensure the merchandise hadn’t been detected. Once he’d done that, it was only a matter of getting the items out of the city so he could auction them off.

So far, everything had gone off without a hitch. Well, almost everything. David frowned at the reminder. It was time to address his transportation problem. He hit a button on his desk.

“Tony?”

“Yes, Mr. Rico.”

“Could you please show Mr. Sullivan in?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

David hit another button, this one tucked discreetly under his desktop, and the door to his oceanfront office opened with a soft click.

“Right this way, Mr. Sullivan,” Tony said, stepping aside for the man to enter. Tony’s dark gaze shot over Sullivan’s head to meet Rico’s.

Fred Sullivan ambled in wearing a tweed suit to cover his forty-five-year-old body, which washed out his olive coloring and left him with a jaundiced appearance. His black hair and moustache tilted at a peculiar angle, aided by a healthy dollop of gel.

David glanced at the man with disgust, then gave an almost imperceptible nod to Tony, who then locked the door and flicked a switch that lowered the blinds over the floor-to-ceiling bulletproof windows.

Fred Sullivan’s startled look darted to Tony, then back to Rico. David smiled invitingly, feeling anything but.

“The light irritated my eyes,” he lied. “Please take a seat, Mr. Sullivan.” David indicated the chair across from his desk.

Fred wiped his trembling hands on his trousers, stepped forward and sat.

“Can I get you anything, Mr. Sullivan?” Rico asked.

He shook his head.

“Very well, let’s get down to it.”

“Mr. Rico, thank you again for taking time out of your busy schedule to see me,” began Fred.

David smiled again, feeling the cold thrill of Sullivan’s fear wash over him. “I always have time to meet with a colleague.”

Fred relaxed visibly and used his sleeve to mop his sweaty brow. “We have a problem moving the shipment out of L.A.”

David cocked his head and furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood you. Did you say we?”

“Yes, sir. I mean,
I
have a problem,” he added hastily.

Rico sat forward, resting his hands on his desk. “And what would that be?” he asked, knowing full well that Sullivan had failed to get the trucks that would ferry the weapons.

Fred squirmed like a bug pinned to a dissecting lab table, then shot a glance over his shoulder at Tony, who hadn’t moved. “They were supposed to be here by now, but there’s been a holdup and it looks like they won’t arrive until next week,” Fred said, fingering the cuff of his suit jacket.

David sat back, pretending to consider Sullivan’s words. The trucks in question had been specifically designed to safely transport the weapons. They came with false interiors and padded shelving that couldn’t be replaced by stealing any old semi-truck. Nor could they afford a one-week delay with the feds beginning to poke their heads in where they did not belong. The buyers wouldn’t wait forever. There was no time to re-schedule the auction.

Anger rolled through Rico, searing his insides, while on the outside he appeared as calm as ever. Tony’s eyes widened and he took a step back, a clear indication that he knew the truth.

At five foot seven and one hundred-thirty pounds, David Rico knew he wasn’t physically imposing. What he lacked in strength and size, he more than made up for in imagination. “What do you propose we do about this problem, Mr. Sullivan?”

“I—I told you. We should put the transport off until next week.”

David shook his head admonishingly. “Now you and I both know that’s not possible. We’re dealing with very busy people. People who’ll think nothing of taking their business elsewhere, if I go back on my word.”

“B-but the trucks won’t arrive in time.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to come up with some other way of getting the merchandise out of town.” He already had a backup plan in place, but would only use it in the event of an emergency. The plan would require paying off too many people, which would significantly cut in to his profits. No, he definitely wouldn’t use it until he’d exhausted all other avenues.

Fred smiled. “Good idea, sir.”

“Why thank you, Mr. Sullivan. That’s kind of you to say.” David tapped the keyboard, clearing his computer screen and ignoring the man sitting in front of him.

Fred Sullivan’s smile slowly faded. “Mr. Rico, sir. I’m sorry to disturb you again, but what would you like me to do?”

“Do?” Rico questioned. “Why nothing, Mr. Sullivan. Our business arrangement concluded with your failure to deliver.”

“B-but you said we’d have to come up with some other way to move the goods.”

David shook his head. “No, I said
I
would. Tony, please escort Mr. Sullivan out the back way.”

Tony nodded, then opened a door that up until then had blended seamlessly with the wall.

Sullivan walked toward Rico’s able-bodied assistant.

“Hold up,” David called, raising his hand to stop their progress.

Sullivan’s smarmy face lit with hope.

“On second thought, Tony, why don’t you take Mr. Sullivan fishing off Catalina Island. I hear the great white are biting this time of year.”

Fred paled and started to move away.

“Yes, sir,” Tony said, latching on to the man.

Rico met Fred’s hazel eyes. The man screamed.

“Now, now, there is no cause for hysterics. Remember, the room is soundproof. If you can’t conduct yourself like a gentleman, I’m going to have to ask Tony to assist you. It was nice doing business with you, Mr. Sullivan. Enjoy the boat ride. The water should be positively refreshing.”

David picked up the phone to dial Hirosuke as Tony closed the door behind them. All this talk about fish had put him in the mood for sushi.

T
HE BOARDING AREA
was packed to the gills with passengers. Delaney groaned inwardly as she scanned the people. The flight looked like it was going to be pre-board hell. She didn’t see Jack Gordon, which was probably for the best. She was in no mood to put up with his cheerful banter and easy charm. Delaney’s hands shook from the caffeine infusion she’d given herself earlier as she punched in the code to the jetway and swiped her ID badge.

The light blinked red.

What the—

She glared at the keypad and tried again.

The red light continued to blink.

Give me a break.
Delaney jerked on the door.

“Having trouble?” Jeremy called out from behind her.

She turned to see him walk forward with his bag in tow.

“You look like the cat drug you in backward through a barbwire fence.”

“I thought you said you weren’t from Texas.” Delaney glared at him, taking in his perfectly pressed uniform, freshly scrubbed face and manicured nails. In that moment, she debated whether to kick his starched ass.

Jeremy must have read her thoughts because he took a step back. “I’m not.”

“Well, you sure sound like it when you say sh—Crap like that.” Her gaze wandered to the passengers nearby who seemed a little too interested in their conversation for her peace of mind.

Jeremy snickered. “I see someone needs a nap.”

“Don’t start with me. Just open the door.”

He strolled forward and stopped at the keypad. “What are the magic words?” he asked as he pressed the code into the alarm.

“I’ll let you live if you open the door,” she muttered between clenched teeth.

Jeremy started to say something, then stopped as if he’d thought better of it.

The door beeped and the light turned green. He glanced over his shoulder and arched a brow at Delaney before proceeding down the jetway, mumbling under his breath about moody women.

They’d barely managed to stow their luggage when the operations agent, or ops agent in airline lingo, hit the call button to signal he was about to board the aircraft. Delaney made her way forward.

The captain stepped out the cockpit as she reached the galley. “Are you guys overnighting with us in Kentucky?”

“I don’t know about them, but I’m getting off in Phoenix.” She didn’t add that she planned to take a nap until her
date
with Jack Gordon this evening. She refused to give Jeremy the satisfaction of knowing that he’d been right about her appearance.

“Too bad,” he said, giving her a quick once-over. “I was hoping you could join me for dinner. Maybe when I get back to base in a couple of days we could go for a drive in my Porsche.”

Delaney tried to seem interested, the least she could do was try for polite. “Thanks, but I’ll pass,” she said, in no mood to complicate an already complicated situation. Jack was more than enough for her to handle at the moment.

People continued to board, carrying their lives in their luggage. It would be a full boat today. Their faces became an endless blur until she spotted the end of the line. Delaney greeted the last individual and prepared to shut the door, ignoring her disappointment that Jack hadn’t made it aboard.
Stop being silly. He’ll catch another flight. You’ll see him soon enough,
the voice in her head chastised.

Fingers shot out, catching the forward entry door before she could close it. Talk about cutting it close.

Delaney swung the door wide, then opened her mouth to welcome the straggler.