Targeted (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 2) (12 page)

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, conveying her empathy and support. “Whatever you want. You just let us know what you need.”

I need
you
, he wanted to say. He wasn’t sure what held the words back. His father was so out of it it’s not like they really had an audience. Instead he nodded.

“I’ll text you when I’m off.” Her hand fell away and her soft footfalls started across the carpet. Then they stopped.

He looked up as she came back to him, met her eyes for a moment before she bent and wrapped her arms around him from behind, squeezed once then kissed the top of his head. “Hang in there,” she whispered.

Jaw tight, he nodded, the back of his throat burning when she withdrew. His father continued to stare across the room with that sickeningly blank expression.

As the door shut softly behind her, Tuck had never felt so alone in his life.

Ken looked up from his laptop when the newscaster said something about a composite sketch. Curious, he set the computer aside and looked at the TV. A sketch popped up on screen as the anchor once again described him as an unknown suspect, a Caucasian male with medium brown hair and short beard, six feet tall with a muscular build. It didn’t really look like him but there was enough of a resemblance that he couldn’t take the chance of not altering his appearance.

“…officials warn that the suspect may be impersonating a police officer in order to infiltrate his targets…”

There was such bitter irony in that statement that a smirk twisted his lips.

The screen flashed again to the federal building he’d attacked, outlining the damage and that officials didn’t yet know why he was carrying out the bombings but that it was almost certain he had either military or law enforcement background.

All well and good, but if everything went as planned they wouldn’t put the breadcrumbs together until he’d released his manifesto. Which was ready.

He closed the document and turned off the laptop, then shut off the TV as well. In the bathroom he opened his shaving kit and set everything on the counter: razor, shaving cream, hair clippers.

As he pulled the last item out, his wedding ring tumbled out of the bag onto the chipped counter next to the sink. He stilled, staring at it, a muscle flexing in his jaw. He never wore it but couldn’t bring himself to leave it back home for this, so he’d packed it in his shaving kit.

For just a moment he saw Carla’s face; her cap of blonde hair framing her oval face, wide blue eyes smiling up at him. He knew what she’d think of this, knew she wouldn’t understand. But she wasn’t here and if he ever got to see her again in whatever came after this life, he’d beg for her forgiveness then.

After burying the reminder of his old life at the bottom of the shaving kit, he leaned over the sink, turned on the clippers and gave himself a short skull trim. Then he filled the sink and covered his beard with shaving cream. He waited a minute or two for the cream to soften the whiskers then took a deep breath, released it and raised his gaze to the mirror, studiously ignoring his eyes.

His hands were steady as he scraped the long whiskers off his face, even though seeing that ring had rattled him. It reminded him of all the times she’d watched him quietly as he’d done exactly this in their master bathroom before each shift. She’d have that secret little smile on her face as she watched him shave and get ready for work.

He’d meet her eyes in the mirror and smile at her fascinated expression.
“What?”

“It’s so sexy.”

“Me shaving?”

“Yeah.” She stood and crossed over to him, pressed her lithe body up against his back as she wound her arms around his waist, added a little rub of her breasts along his spine that made him go hard. “Think we have time?”

“Oh yeah,” he answered, wiping the last of the shaving cream away so he could turn and reach for her.

And he’d thought they would have time. All the time in the world to repeat countless little moments like that one, tiny pieces of a life together as husband and wife. It had taken him more than a year to convince her to marry him, and another eight months before the wedding itself.

She’d died four days shy of their eighth wedding anniversary.

Sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he consciously forced the painful memories away and resolutely finished shaving. He set the razor down, rinsed his face clean and wiped it dry with a towel. Steeling himself, he glanced up once more to confront the man in the mirror.

It was a shock to see himself like this again, and though Carla’s death had changed him irrevocably forever, he could still see a little of his old self in the reflection staring back at him. And he’d seen that same man again last night, when he’d sent the janitor to safety before the bombs went off. It had been a knee-jerk, instinctive reaction, one so ingrained in him that he hadn’t been able to stop it.

But he had to stop it next time. Collateral damage was an unfortunate but necessary part of this operation. And he needed as many civilian lives hanging in the balance as possible to pull it off. Without enough of them, his target would never be called in.

Tearing his gaze away from the mirror, he got busy cleaning up, making sure to flush the hair clippings that had fallen onto the floor and counter, and left the bathroom. He turned off the light and climbed under the sheet, ready to face one last sleepless night spent wrestling his inner demons.

****

Celida dragged herself out of the car and started up the walkway to the back door of her townhouse. She was so tired she didn’t even remember the drive home and her mind was in a kind of fog.

It was after eleven p.m. already, and Travers had sent her home forty-five minutes ago with a brusque, “Get out of here and go home before you drop”. She’d left, but only because she was no good to anyone there and Travers had promised to alert her if something more came in.

On the way to the door she glanced across the yard to the visitor parking and spied Tuck’s truck there. Smiling, suddenly much more alert, she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The scent of something spicy and delicious welcomed her. Zoe must have cooked, which made her the best house guest of all time.

After putting away her computer, shoes and coat she headed through the foyer and kitchen on her way to the living room. Tuck appeared in the archway that led into the living room, his rugged face breaking into a welcoming smile when he saw her. There were shadows under his eyes and she knew he was probably as tired as she was but he appeared to be every bit as glad to see her as she was to see him.

“Hey,” he said. “Long day?”

She nodded, fought a smile, but didn’t fight her instinct to go to him. Without pause she closed the distance between them and reached up to wind her arms around his neck. His strong arms wrapped around her and pulled her tight against his hard, warm body.

She closed her eyes and sighed, her heart thumping like a teenager’s with a crush, enjoying the feel of him holding her. “How are you holding up?” she asked softly, keeping her voice down so Zoe wouldn’t hear.

“Good.” He didn’t let her go, nuzzled the top of her head as he hugged her.

“Any change with your dad?” She wasn’t in any hurry to leave his embrace either.

“No. I stayed with him for about an hour after he finished eating, then he got really tired and fell asleep. I took a walk, came back a bit later but he was still out so I headed here. Zoe made you dinner.”

“It smells awesome, Zo,” Celida called out.

“Tastes pretty good too,” she called back. “Chicken enchiladas.”

“I’ll grab you a plate,” Tuck said to her. “Go sit down and I’ll bring it to you.”

“I could get used to that,” she murmured, rubbing her cheek against the solid slab of one pec.

“Go on,” he said, easing back and giving her a little nudge toward the living room. She went, finding Zoe ensconced on one end of the chocolate brown, tufted leather sofa watching a movie.

“Thanks for cooking,” Celida said as she sank down beside her. “I’m starved.”

“Figured you would be.” Zoe lifted an arm in silent command and Celida leaned against her friend’s side with a grin. “You look beat,
bébé
.”

Celida grunted. “Thanks.”

Zoe huffed out a laugh. “Just an observation.”

Tuck appeared with a plate of enchiladas and a glass of ice water. Celida thanked him and scooted over to make room for him. He settled his big frame beside her as she dug in and though the meal was flavorful and delicious, she barely tasted it because she was too preoccupied with Tuck’s nearness. He smelled of soap and laundry detergent and she could feel his body heat radiating against her side.

“Really great,” she muttered to Zoe, suddenly wishing she and Tuck were alone. But it wasn’t very polite to ask her house guest to get lost just so she could make out with her new boyfriend. And man, did that word feel so weird when it came to Tuck.

All this time he’d been unattainable, and now he was here, hers—for the moment at least—and she couldn’t do any of the dirty, filthy things she’d dreamed about doing to him. Not without making Tuck uncomfortable and sending Zoe into therapy.

“So no new developments, huh?” he asked her.

“Nothing useful yet, no,” she answered in between bites.

Everyone was frustrated that no solid leads had come in yet, but she didn’t want to think about work anymore. Tuck’s nearness was making her nerve endings hypersensitive. Her whole body was alive with tingles and the only thing he was touching her with were his eyes.

What the hell would happen when he put those big hands and his mouth all over her naked skin? She’d probably spontaneously combust from a combination of repressed longing and sexual frustration.

“It’s so scary,” Zoe muttered. “I feel like there’s some mass shooting or terror attack in the States every week now.”

Yeah, it seemed like that to her, too. Their department’s tempo had definitely increased since she’d started there almost a year and a half ago. “The heat’s really on this guy. If he’s still in the area—and we’re pretty sure he is—we’ll get him.” She prayed that happened before he was able to unleash whatever attack he had planned next.

Tuck took the empty plate from her and went into the kitchen with it, she presumed to put it in the dishwasher. Sure enough, a few seconds later she heard water running in the sink and then the sound of the dishwasher door opening and closing. She grinned at Zoe. “I feel spoiled.”

Zoe laughed. “Feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not hating it.” She sipped at her water, knowing she was dehydrated, which combined with her fatigue level explained the dull pounding in her skull.

Tuck returned to his seat and this time wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The move had a possessive vibe to it that Celida found she really liked. In the past when guys had gotten possessive with her she’d been quick to put them in their place, but with Tuck it was different. Everything female in her got all soft and melty when he touched her like that, whether it was in front of anyone or not. She liked knowing he thought of her as his.

For now
, a little voice reminded her. So far she hadn’t been very good at the whole long-term thing. She was taking this one day at a time with Tuck.

“Well,” Zoe announced, pushing to her feet. “I’m gonna be on my way now. You guys have a good night.”

Celida assumed she meant she was heading to bed, but then she noticed the carryon suitcase set beside the sofa. She blinked at Zoe. “Where are you going?”

“Tuck’s place,” her friend answered, already wheeling the suitcase toward the back door.

“What? Why?” She scrambled to her feet. Was Zoe that uncomfortable with her and Tuck being together?

Zoe stopped and gave her a knowing smile. “Sweetie, you guys need some time alone together. I honestly don’t mind, and this way I get to bug Bauer a bit more, so win-win.”

Celida started to go after her but Tuck grabbed her hand to still her. “How are you getting there?” Celida asked.

“Cab, and it should be waiting outside already. Look, don’t worry, okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that she was gone.

Celida sat back on the sofa and looked at Tuck. The sound of the door locking behind Zoe reached her. “Was this her idea, or yours?”

“Hers.” He reached one hand out to brush the hair back from her cheek with his fingers, stirring shivers across her skin. His hand was so large, so strong, yet he touched her with a gentleness that bordered on reverence. It made something low in her abdomen do a little flip.

“I feel bad.”

“Don’t. She’s perfectly comfortable at my place, and it’s only for a night.” Those warm brown eyes ran over her face, assessing her. “You need some peace and quiet anyway, because you’re exhausted.”

That put a slight damper on her building arousal. “Wow, you and Zoe are both great with the compliments tonight.”

He didn’t apologize. “You know what I mean. I’m gonna make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”

“Not tired.” Not now, when they were finally alone and had the place to themselves for the whole night. He’d told her he wanted her to think about them getting naked and she’d taken the challenge to heart. She had a whole slew of her favorite fantasies about him to try. Oh, the possibilities…

He grunted, the frustration in his expression taking her by surprise. “Because you’re afraid to go to sleep.”

She stilled inside as his words registered, all traces of arousal and anticipation evaporating. Suspicion and unease took root in their place. “Who told you that?”

“No one.”

Bullshit.
“That’s why you’re staying?”

“Partly,” he allowed with a nod.

Celida sat back, pulling away from him as a chill slid through her. “Did someone say something to you?”

“Travers texted me when you were on your way home,” he said evenly. “He said you needed to sleep before you crashed.”

Well that was insulting. She was more than freaking capable of taking care of herself. “I need babysitting now?”