Taken by Surprise (23 page)

* * * *

"Is it too much to hope you're thinking of joining the Mile High Club?" Michael's breath fanned Rhonda's ear, sending desire looping through her.

She closed her eyes, allowing herself a brief moment to enjoy the satin ribbon of awareness that tightened its hold on her heart before being joined by equal parts fear. "Not if you can tell me you're thinking the same thing." She looked at him. The clouds of worry in his exotic eyes confirmed what she already knew. Their thoughts might mirror one another, but the topic of their concentration strayed far from sex in the cramped bathroom of Korean Air flight 690 to South Korea.

"Lucas is safe. He will remain safe. Phay is not going to get anywhere close to that boy."

Rhonda wanted to believe that. She needed to for her own sanity to survive the twenty-five-hour flight and two stops in between. "It won't take him as long to get there."

The reports Stone received from the Thai keeping surveillance on Phay's compound revealed the kingpin left in a private aircraft, presumably his, mere minutes before Boran Roumduol made the call to Michael. The quick exchange of intel would have prevented Phay from getting much of a head start. If only the DEA, FBI, or SEALs had been able to get their hands on a bird to fly them out right away. Instead, circumstance beyond anyone's control forced them to look to commercial airlines for transportation.

It had taken Stone close to an hour to commandeer the seats on the Korean airline that would take them the five hours and fifteen minutes to their first change in South Korea. Another twelve hours and fifteen minutes on Korean Air flight 31 would take them into Dallas, Texas. Stone and Michael hoped to eliminate the hour layover in Dallas by securing a private plane to meet them at the Dallas-Fort Worth airport.

"We still have the advantage of surprise." Michael held her hand in a comforting but sure grip on the armrest between their seats. "Do you want to try to sleep for a while?"

"You would come closer to getting me to have sex in the airplane bathroom."

His lips twitched. "Yeah, I figured. You can't blame a man for trying."

"What if we don't have the element of surprise?" Rhonda put voice to one of the many questions creating turmoil in her head. "You said yourself it seems like Phay is always a step ahead. What makes you think this time is any different?"

"Roumduol." Michael didn't hesitate. "And instinct. Phay didn't order Roumduol to make that call. For whatever reason, I think Roumduol made the choice himself."

"Why?" It didn't make sense to Rhonda. "He threatens you, kills Nancy, and now he's
helping
us. He could just as easily have made that call to send us scrambling after Phay when Phay is safely tucked away in his compound."

Michael nodded once and focused his attention straight ahead, though he didn't seem to see any of the passengers in the cabin in front of them. "I thought about that. The Thai reported seeing Phay leave the compound, too, remember?"

She did, just like she remembered their suspicion that Phay paid off someone in the Thai army to tip him off about any impending infiltrations.

"Would you two like to know what else I've got to shed some light on this little party?" Cameron Stone slid into the vacant seat on Michael's right. The FBI agent leaned forward enough that Rhonda could see him, too, from her seat by the window.

"What did you find out?" Michael's demeanor changed. In that blink of an eye, he went from slightly relaxed to full-alert mode, all business, all agent.

Despite the seriousness of the situation and her nearly paralyzing fears, Rhonda found herself biting back a smile.

"It all boils down to loyalty. Boran Roumduol's lies with Veng Kim's father and the old man's closest friend, Juan Davuth. Davuth is, incidentally, one of the members of Phay's cartel that our guys took out in Operation Liquid Tab. Rumor has it—and yes, it is rumor, but it makes perfect sense—that Roumduol got pretty pissed about Davuth's death. He also realized Phay fully intended to let the remaining members of his cartel take the fall while he scooted out of the country scot-free."

"Phay's father ran the cartel by a different code, less bloodshed but no less vigilant." Michael shook his head. "I can't see Roumduol preferring that way to Veng Kim's."

"I didn't say Roumduol preferred the old ways, just that he preferred the old man. There's a difference. Roumduol has apparently been on Veng Kim's shit list since the debacle in Silver Springs four years ago when he failed to take out Ryan Magee."

"I didn't think Roumduol was there then." Rhonda remembered Mr. Scarball, Atith Sovannarith, and a couple of others captured in the rescue of the former Navy SEAL and his now stepson.

"He was there," Michael said reflectively. "He just got away from us then, too."

"And turned up a year later to cash in on the insurance money floating around the coast after Hurricane Emilio. At the same time, he set up shop with the liquid opium that started hitting the streets," Stone added. "Where, he once again screwed up his boss's orders, nearly ended up in your custody after all. That time he wound up unable to show his face in Silver Springs without being immediately identified."

Rhonda laughed her derision. "No wonder Phay offered to kill him for me. He probably already planned to snuff him off anyway."

"Phay offered to kill Roumduol for you?" Stone tried to lean further forward and ended up smacking his head on the seat in front of him. He winced and eased back, but his gaze remained locked on Rhonda.

"It's not relevant." The inherent authority in Michael's tone couldn't be ignored.

Stone glanced at Michael, lifted a brow, and then nodded once. "I'll buy that for now. If I feel the need to know, I'll ask again."

Rhonda held her breath, hoping the agents wouldn't go nose to nose right beside her on the airplane.

"Fair enough," Michael finally said, relaxing marginally in his seat. "I didn't have any luck getting us a chopper to stand by at Dallas-Fort Worth. What about you?"

"I'm still working on it." Stone got to his feet. "Why don't you both go for hopes and try out that Mile High Club thing. I hear it can be fun." The agent grinned as he moved back to his seat, proving rumors weren't the only things he heard exceptionally well.

Chapter Twelve

Jackson swung open the hotel room door and found trouble staring back at him through daring, dark eyes. This afternoon, trouble wore combat boots with fishnet stockings beneath what he came to think of as her signature black leather miniskirt. A purple mesh shirt hung loose over a skin-hugging black tank that put her flat abs and perky nipples on clear display. His mouth dried up like the Sahara Desert.

"You're supposed to invite me in, Slick." Christa planted a fisted hand on one slim hip. Her other arm bent at the elbow, fingers working as a rack for the hangers holding up the clothes she held behind her back.

I'm afraid to
. Jackson glanced pointedly at the clothes. "What's that?"

"New threads for tonight." The hand on her hip flattened on his chest as she pushed him out of the way, walked past him into his hotel room.

Jackson closed the door. He didn't see any other choice unless he wanted to wrestle her back out again. That would require getting close to her, touching her. Not a good idea. He flinched at the audible click it made as the automatic lock engaged. Why did he feel like he just sealed his fate?

Get a grip, Graham
.

He started to follow her into the room when his attention landed on the back of her neck. She wore her hair up again, drawn into an intricate twist off her neck with sporadic, tantalizing ringlets left to hang free. The Sahara Desert in his mouth suddenly got more rainfall than it had seen in a millennium. He wanted to taste that smooth-looking flesh, dance his tongue over the fine hairs of her nape, twist his fingers in the ringlets that teased her shoulders.

And don't grip that
.

"I already have clothes for tonight. You picked them out." He stayed where he stood in the short entryway and watched as she moved around his room like she belonged there. She hooked the hangers on the top of the open bathroom door, caught sight of his FBI badge on the nightstand, and trailed the tip of her nail over the metal as if caressing a lover's chest. She gave him a look over her shoulder that rocked his world.

Her dark eyes turned green beneath lashes no longer black but autumn brown. Her cheekbones lightly blushed rose as her lips painted devilish red stretched in a come-get-me smile. Jackson knew the vision inviting him to play wasn't Mallory despite the resemblance that secured his imagination. It didn't stir his heart, didn't consume his mind like the sight of Mallory always did. His cock, on the other hand, didn't make the distinction.

"As your dominatrix, I have the right to change my mind." Her eyes sparked with challenge. She turned slowly, perched on the edge of the nightstand, long fingers curling around the wood on either side of her hips. "Have you heard anything from your guy yet?"

Jackson nodded. The sharp movement coupled with the conversational shift to work proved enough to bring him out of the almost catatonic state that had seemed to snag hold of him. He moved further into the room, slid the cell phone he'd forgotten he held onto the dresser on his way to the window. Distance, he needed the span of the few short feet between the window and nightstand between himself and this woman before he forgot more than a freaking cell phone. Like the fact that she was not Mallory.

"Cameron Stone called minutes before you showed up. He's with Cosmos and the rest of our guys and yours on a plane headed for the Dallas-Fort Worth airport."

"I got a similar call not so long ago. Adrien is taking up post at the home of Cynthia Martin, Rhonda Ramsey's mother. Her home has been used as the safe house for herself and Lucas since Rhonda's abduction. Our office and the SSPD have had the place under round-the-clock surveillance. The plan is to take Rhonda there as soon as they hit town. Apparently they believe Phay will come after her here."

"I'm having trouble with the fact that Phay is here," Jackson admitted. "Why come to Silver Springs or Billings? Why come anywhere near this coast? He's got to know the DEA and local police are taking down his operation one step at a time."

"With every rung of the ladder we remove, he rebuilds it faster than we can take out the next. That's been the problem all along."

"That's the nature of the war. For every dealer you put behind bars, every super-lab you close, every ounce of the drug you confiscate, there are two to ten more waiting to take its place." Jackson didn't need to tell her that, of course. Her work centered on that very war, while his generally specialized on weapons and human trafficking, explosives and terrorist threats.

"I'm assuming Stone also informed you of the other call I received this morning."

"From your as-yet-unnamed informant telling you Ama-rella's dominatrix added a special guest to her little party tonight? The report made the rounds from your agents to mine."

"Ama-rella?" Christa's lips twitched. "She scared you that bad, huh?"

Jackson ignored her. "You really think Phay is this special guest?"

Christa shrugged. "Who else could it be?"

Jackson looked out the window, down to the steady stream of traffic cruising along the beachfront. Something about the whole assignment didn't sit right. It hadn't almost from the start. "It's too easy."

Behind him, Christa scoffed. "Maybe for you, Slick, but I've been working my ass off for over a year to get to this point."

Jackson glanced back. "More like flaunting your ass off."

Christa pushed herself off the nightstand, slowly moved around the bed on a direct path toward him, and he felt his mistake settle in his cock. "That's the nature of the war."

Jackson had never wanted to choke on his own words as much as he did the second trouble turned them around on him.

"For every miniskirt I put on, every club I peruse, every cock I make hard, there's that slim possibility that I might find the fucker putting those drugs on our streets and take him out."

She stopped behind him, so close he felt her pert nipple brush the back of his arm.

"It's not about the job. It's about life, theirs, mine, yours. It's about taking control to see that protection is given even to those who don't ask for it or think they want it. It's about taking the choice out of their hands, because some choices are simply too difficult for people to make on their own."

Jackson fought the urge to swallow, to wipe the beads of sweat he felt forming at his temples, to turn away from the command he saw swirling in her eyes. If he moved, even the slightest flinch, his goose would be cooked. Hell, from the desire whipping through his system, he might be cooked anyway.

His gaze dropped as she touched him, a slender finger gliding along the top of his shoulder, down his bicep. Lightning seemed to shoot from that fingertip, traveling through his arm on a decided path to his groin. His balls flamed with electric lust.

"I like this look on you. I'm not sure what I expected in the way of casual clothes, but this tight T-shirt and sweats is a surprise. The suits you wear are handsome, sophisticated, sexy, and we both know I like you in the clothes I pick out. I like this look, too, relaxed, enticing, and utterly male." Her fingers curled around his bicep, gave it a pressured tug. "Turn around so I can see all of you."

Jackson held her gaze as he turned, felt the sizzle move through him as her attention did a leisurely slide down his front. She stood too close for her head not to bump his chest as she looked down between their bodies. He caught the subtle whiff of strawberries and barely suppressed a tortured groan. Mallory's hair always smelled like strawberries.

"That's enough, Christa." His voice sounded tight, even to his own ears, probably because every muscle in his body felt tight. Need formed a satin ribbon that tickled along his flesh only to tie around his balls and tighten. It wasn't difficult to give the need a name. He could give it three: sex, Christa, and Mallory. Separating the three, however, proved next to impossible when the hand on his shoulder slid to cup his nape.

"I say when it's enough, Jackson. Or have you forgotten the most important lesson already?" She rose to her tiptoes, kissed the corner of his mouth, then traced the line of his lips with her tongue before pulling back.

"This isn't a game." Damned if his body didn't want to play. "We're on assignment." If he focused on that, kept his mind clear, he could get through this. "You're not my dominatrix, and I'm no one's submissive."

"Are you sure about that?" She traced the outline of his pecs with the tip of her finger, followed the trail between them down his abs, his stomach, stopping a scant half inch from his low-riding sweats.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, when she touched him like that, he couldn't be sure of anything.

"I think you want to find out what it's like. You're curious how it would feel to give yourself to a woman, to let her hold the reins of control, to obey without question in order to experience a sexual rush unlike anything you've ever imagined."

Jackson fought it despite the encouraging voice taking root in his mind.
"You're much too uptight. Get laid while you're gone. Have a quick fling. Maybe it will do us both some good
.
"
He'd done it with Angelina and it hadn't done him a damned bit of good because he still wanted Mallory.
"The gallivanting, the flings, they don't work for you because it's me you want
.
"
Well, duh! Tell him something he hadn't figured out already.

"Let go for a little while, Jackson. I've heard surrendering can be as comforting to the submissive as taking control is to the dominatrix."

Really? Now that might be useful information. Would it work with Mallory? Would allowing her to take control as she had been attempting to do for years give her that level of comfort she needed? Would it open the door for him to take more than her body, more than her heart? He wanted her very soul, but he had to trust himself to claim it without risking his own to the world of pain he knew she could cause him if he lost the game.

"Take off your shirt." The inherent command in her tone couldn't be ignored.

Jackson stopped thinking and started listening, learning, obeying. He pulled the T-shirt over his head, dropped it to the floor, and let his hands fall to his sides. He noted the spark of shock in Christa's eyes, wondered if she might suddenly back off. Triumph quickly followed the spark, and he knew the game was on.

"You're solid as a rock." Her hands grazed appreciatively over his bared shoulders, his chest. "You can't spend a lot of time behind a desk with a body like this."

Jackson didn't say anything. His pecs flexed involuntarily as her nails skimmed his nipples. He fisted his hands at his sides when the primitive desire to touch her the way she touched him coursed through his system. The quick study she gave him about the BDSM scene coupled with what he already knew told him such an act without permission wasn't allowed.

"I'll admit it's been a long time since I've been with a man as outrageously packed as you."

"Are you looking for flattery in return?" he dared to ask. He did spend a lot of time behind his desk, but he also kept in shape. Blessed with a naturally high metabolism, he needed only a couple of hours at the gym a few days a week to keep the body she currently admired.

"No, just stating a fact." She plucked at the waistband of his sweats. "Take them off. I want to see the rest."

The challenge made her eyes flash again, and again, he got the reward of seeing the spark of shock as he untied the drawstring and shucked his sweats to his ankles.

"Oh, my, outrageously packed indeed." Her hands trailed down his hips, his thighs, pausing at the scar tissue midway up his left thigh. "Gunshot?"

"Wrong place at the wrong time shortly after signing on at the bureau," Jackson told her thickly. The synapses in his brain seemed to quit firing now that her hands rested so close to his pulsing cock. Holy Mother of God, he never dreamed it would take so much out of him
not
to touch a woman when she examined his body like this.

"Is that the only one?" Her hand snaked between his legs to his inner thigh and crept up.

Jackson forgot to breathe. "So far."

She fingered his balls, rolled them in her hand. Jackson nearly retracted his words as he heard the boom inside his head. It was the same sound he'd heard once before, the moment Angelina curled her wicked hand around his nut sac. That sound had proven the final bullet of his senses being fired to oblivion. He felt the exact same effect two years later in the hands of Christa Hutchens.

"You're hand is fisted pretty tight," she observed, proving her skills as an agent were as keen as his own. "Why don't you give it something to hold? Stroke your cock. There's something about watching a man pleasure himself that really does it for me."

Jackson took his rigid shaft in his hand and started to stroke in long, slow pulls that felt too damned good. He let his head roll back on his shoulders as a quiet moan escaped his lips.

"Does it feel good, Slick?" If her breathy tone served as any proof, she hadn't lied when she told him watching a man jerk off did it for her.

Because a dominatrix's question was meant to be answered, another lesson he'd learned already, he said, "It would feel better if you did it for me, Mistress." He lifted his head to look down at her, caught the twitch at the corner of her lips as she bit back a smile. The pleased glint in her eyes gave her away.

"My, you do learn fast. It's really too bad you aren't meant for me."

Jackson's hand stilled in mid-stroke.

Christa laughed, the sound musical and erotic enough to stroke his cock when his hand failed to do the job. "Don't look so surprised, Slick. We might be pretending you're my lifelong love, but we both know you aren't." She curled her fingers around his wrists, guided his hands to the bottom of her miniskirt. "That doesn't mean we can't enjoy the game while it lasts."