Targeted (Hostage Rescue Team Series Book 2) (5 page)

His work and training schedule weren’t exactly conducive to playing nurse, and he’d seen the painful reality of that firsthand over the past few months. Plus Celida would have freaked if he’d suddenly gone all protective caretaker with her, even if he’d done it because he cared. So he’d done the best he could with phone calls and occasionally stopping by over the past few weeks while juggling everything else going on in his life.

That was the thing that bugged him the most about all this. She didn’t realize how
much
he cared. She couldn’t have, because he’d only just figured it out himself the day she’d nearly been killed in that hotel room. He’d had feelings for her back when they were partners that he’d ruthlessly ignored for professional reasons, but the day of the attack had crystallized everything for him.

After nearly losing her this morning for the second time in two months, he wasn’t wasting another day without laying it all on the line. If she flattened him for it, then she flattened him for it. But he didn’t think she would. At least, not initially.

He was pretty sure she’d fight the idea of a relationship early on, but he hoped that part wouldn’t last long. God knew he’d waited long enough for her already.

At the Baltimore office he escorted her inside, again with a supporting hand on the small of her back, ignoring the pointed I’m-not-an-invalid looks she gave him. He waited while she gathered what she needed and spoke to her worried coworkers who came to see her, assuring them that she was fine. From there it was less than a fifteen minute drive to her townhouse complex, tucked into a quiet residential neighborhood on the south side of the city.

“By the way, how’s your dad doing?” she asked as he turned into the complex’s lot.

The question caught him so off guard that his hands tightened on the wheel. He considered his response for a moment and avoided looking at her as he answered. “Not good.”

A surprised silence filled the cab. “Why, what’s wrong?” He could feel her stare as she watched him, caught her frown out of the corner of his eye.

“It’s a long story,” he said evasively as he parked out front of her unit. Toddlers and preschool-aged kids were running around on bikes and scooters on the paved roads in between the townhouse buildings.

“Tuck, seriously. What’s wrong?”

The true concern in her voice made him look over at her. For some reason, the way she was gazing at him right then made his chest ache. This soft, caring side of her had always tied him in knots. The truth was he missed her, so fucking much. And shit, his throat felt all thick as he tried to force the words out. There was so much he had to tell her.

“Ask me in and I’ll tell you.”

She studied him for a second with a worried expression, then nodded. “Yeah, of course, come in.”

Tuck got out and followed her to the front door, mentally gearing up for what was coming. Because he was about to make himself more vulnerable to her than he had to any other living being on earth—even the well-armed insurgents he’d spent most of his career in SF and Delta chasing.

He just hoped to hell she wouldn’t make him regret it.

****

Ken Spivey tugged the brim of his ball cap lower on his forehead and drove at a steady pace north toward Baltimore through the mid-morning traffic. When the local news radio station interrupted their broadcast for breaking news, he turned up the volume.

“Authorities at Marine Corps Base Quantico in Virginia are confirming that a large blast rocked the detention center there less than an hour ago. Preliminary reports are saying that at least two people were injured in the explosion, one critically. Both were immediately transported to the hospital and authorities are working to secure the base and ascertain whether the threat of more attacks is still ongoing. No one has yet claimed responsibility for the attack and as of now the motive behind it is unclear. For live coverage we now go to Peter Rivoli, who is standing by at Quantico.”

Ken turned the volume back down and tuned the reporter out as the man detailed the scene for the listeners. No, the authorities wouldn’t know who’d done it or why yet. And they wouldn’t. Not until he sent them the ninety-two page manifesto he’d prepared.

Two casualties, the woman had said. He hadn’t intended to kill anyone in this attack but if someone died because of his actions, then so be it. They would only be the first of many more casualties.

He drove west of the city to a poorer section of town and to the rundown neighborhood he’d visited earlier. In the parking area for a housing project he parked the car in the spot he’d taken it from this morning. The vehicle was nondescript enough to escape notice and it belonged to a single mother who worked the night shift as a janitor at a local high school.

He’d chosen her specifically because after watching her for the past week he’d been able to track her routine with ease. She rolled in at a little after seven each morning and whoever took care of the daughter overnight arrived with the child at seven-thirty sharp.

In the whole time Ken had been watching the family, the mother had never once emerged from her apartment earlier than three o’clock in the afternoon. He’d already filled the car with enough gas to replace what he’d used, and when she climbed into her car to go pick up her daughter later, she’d have no clue that he’d ever stolen it.

After peeling the military ID sticker that had granted him access to the base from the inside of the windshield and giving everything a wipe with a microfiber cloth dipped in rubbing alcohol, he got out and removed his latex gloves, carefully disposing of them in a Dumpster at the end of the lot.

Nobody looked twice at him. And they wouldn’t; not in this neighborhood where everyone was too busy going about their daily lives just trying to scrape out a living. He’d worked neighborhoods just like this plenty of times back when he’d been a member of the force, and society in places like this hadn’t changed in the years since. In fact, he’d say the situation was worse than ever. More poverty, more drugs, more weapons. A very dangerous combination not only for the residents who lived here, but for the country in general.

The crimes in places like this hadn’t changed, but he had. If anyone here somehow noticed him from his job as a local janitor they’d never recognize him. Even someone from back home would have trouble recognizing him now. He was a mere shadow of the man he’d once been.

He kept his stride unhurried as he walked down the cracked sidewalk past the dilapidated playground where the children played and the teenagers hung out along with the drug dealers and the pimps. A one-stop-shop for anyone who wanted to buy some entertainment or a distraction for the afternoon.

The happy shriek of the little ones playing on the rusted swing set didn’t even touch him anymore. Another symptom that showed just how far the decay had spread inside him. They’d told him the worst of the grief would fade with time, but it hadn’t. It was always there, every bit as intense as it had ever been. He was just too dead inside to feel it the way he once had.

He crossed the street and headed for the busy intersection two blocks down, then flagged down a cab and got in. After directing the driver to take him back into Baltimore, he leaned his head back against the seat and watched the world pass by, thinking of what he had to do next.

Most people would call him a monster for what he had planned, but he’d stopped caring what people thought of him long ago. And they could go fuck themselves, because none of them had a clue what it was like to breathe in needles of broken glass every minute of every day for the past four years.

But none of that mattered now. He’d waited so long, planned this carefully. In a few days his suffering would all be over. He’d be dead, finally at peace or at least beyond the ability to feel pain anymore.

And better yet, those who were left behind would finally understand his pain firsthand.

“You want anything to drink?” Celida asked Tuck as she set her work files on her kitchen table.

“No, but I feel like I should be asking you that. You’ve had a rough morning,” he finished, that sexy Alabama drawl of his like a caress to her senses.

She looked at him over her shoulder. God, the man was hot. And built. The finely honed muscles in his chest, upper arms and shoulders stretched the soft fabric of his T-shirt in a most distracting way. Having just under six feet of gorgeous, powerful male in the middle of her tiny galley-style kitchen went a long way toward taking her mind off the bombing. It felt nice to know he cared but if he went all gentle caretaker on her right now she was done for.

“I told you, I’m fine.” Shaken maybe, but unhurt. Though she was sure today’s events would give more fuel to the insomnia train she’d been riding for the past few weeks. All part of her brain’s attempts to make sense of and deal with the trauma of her attack, the agency shrink had assured her. Her constant fatigue was also partly due to the after-effects of the concussion.

Tuck studied her with those melted-chocolate eyes that missed nothing while she drank her fill of him. It had been too long since she’d been able to admire him up close. He wore his hair longer than the other guys, the dark blond waves framing his masculine features and ending just above his collar. He had a few dings here and there on his face, small scars amongst the deep gold stubble on his cheeks and jaw, a slight bump near the bridge of his nose where he’d broken it long ago.

Those imperfections only made him more gorgeous to her.

“Okay,” he said.

Okay was right, because she
was
fine, and she was determined to be even better, to return to the person she’d been before the attack. She went to the cupboard next to the sink. “Coffee?”

“If you’re having some.”

Oh, caffeine was definitely called for right now. She might even be able to get through the afternoon without wanting to collapse on the desk in her home office and sleep the day away. “Go ahead and take a seat on the couch. I’ll bring it in when it’s ready.”

“I’d rather wait in here with you.”

She paused in the midst of pulling out a coffee filter. “Suit yourself.” Damn she was tired of always having her guard up around him. If he hadn’t seemed so upset about whatever was going on with his dad, she would have confronted him about exactly what the status of their relationship was.

She couldn’t keep up the “just friends” thing with him, it was too exhausting. She needed to know once and for all where she truly stood with him. If he wanted her, she was more than ready to get it on with him, because sex with him would be both mind-blowing and therapeutic. If he didn’t want her, she was prepared to cut him out of her life for the sake of her sanity.

He didn’t speak as she finished making the coffee, keeping her back to him while she got everything ready. All the while she was acutely aware of him behind her, though, watching. His stare was like a low-level electric current traveling over her skin, crackling with sexual awareness.

She’s always known they’d be good together in bed, right from day one. Make that freaking fantastic, actually. And maybe once they got all that pent up lust out of the way then
maybe
they could truly be
just
friends.

All she knew was, she didn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize that friendship. Other than Zoe, he’d been one of the most important people in her life. That’s why it had hurt so much when he hadn’t made more of an effort to see or talk to her when she’d been laid up.

When the coffee was done she poured two mugs, added cream and sugar to both and handed him one. His long fingers brushed hers and lingered on the transfer, his eyes locked on hers in that intense way that set off a hum of arousal deep in her belly. “Thanks,” he murmured, standing so close she could smell the woodsy scent of his soap.

Air. She needed air. “Let’s go sit.”

She led the way into the living room and chose the far end of the couch. He took the opposite end, his big body curled into the corner of it as he cradled the mug between his large hands. The man had outrageously sexy hands. Clean, hard, powerful. She knew how lethally efficient they could be in the line of duty, how capable they were when he fixed or built something, but she’d also felt how gentle they could be whenever he touched her. What she wouldn’t give to feel them gliding over her naked skin.

That line of thought was
so
not helping her feel more relaxed with him sitting four feet away.

She cleared her throat and shifted on the cushion, giving him her full attention. “So, what’s happening with your dad?” She asked it gently but he immediately looked away and sighed and she could see how hard it was for him to talk about.

She waited in silence for him to speak, her heart going out to him. Tuck was a soldier through and through, one of the toughest men she’d ever met, and never showed weakness of any kind. The thought of him hurting cut her inside.

“You know he was starting to become kind of forgetful.”

Oh, damn. Already afraid she knew where this was going, she nodded.

She’d met Al at least a dozen times while she and Tuck had been partners. The last few times she’d visited him with Tuck almost three years ago now, Al had seemed a little dazed. Slower. Forgetting where he’d put something, or spacing out in the middle of a conversation. At the time she hadn’t thought much of it. “He’s worse now?”

“Turns out it’s not simple dementia, it’s Alzheimer’s.”

Celida hid a wince. “How bad is it?”

He expelled a breath, his gaze fixed on the mug in his hands. “Bad. I had to move him from his assisted living place into a full care home. In his more lucid moments, I think that’s the hardest part for him—the times when he realizes what’s happening to him. He always told me he’d rather die than wind up in a care home. It hit him hard when he had to start using diapers. Begged me once to take him outside and put a bullet in his head to end it all and save him the humiliation of having people have to change him like a baby.”