Page 9

Kearns waited outside Summer Redding’s apartment in Alexandria. He’d checked the security cameras but they all seemed to be disabled, which was odd for a relatively upscale place.

Kearns didn’t like odd. Anything out of place was a potential source of danger. But since there was no way to know why the security cameras were out of order, he dismissed it. If this had been a regular op and he’d had time to research the mission, he’d have hacked into the building supervisor’s office to see if regularly scheduled maintenance was going on, or whether there’d been a malfunction at the central level, just to eliminate uncertainties, but that wasn’t possible.

Springer had been quite clear that the threat had to be eliminated now .

The cam issue stuck in the back of his head, though, because one possible explanation was that another operator had been here before him and had disabled the security cameras. That would be a complication and complications were always bad.

Kearns had never failed a mission yet. The mission that got him cashiered from the Clandestine Service hadn’t been a failure, but that fucker Hugh Lownie didn’t like the way he’d carried it out and had given him a dishonorable discharge. With no pension rights. Twenty years he’d busted his hump for the CIA and for a little collateral damage he was tossed away like garbage.

The day of his discharge he’d gone on a three day bender. The morning of the third day, Marcus Springer had knocked on his door, made a proposition and changed his life.

Who the fuck cared about a DD now? Kearns was making ten times the money he’d made in the CS with no limits on what he could do as long as he got the job done. Springer was a great boss, generous and with no rules of engagement. Just—get the job done.

Which he fully intended to do.

He understood very well that this Redding woman was a pain in the ass. Maybe she was about to write something bad for Springer on that blog of hers. Kearns understood the principle of eliminating problems before they festered.

Well, no security cameras sure made this easy.

He crouched outside her door with an IR gun in front of him and waited. The IR would capture signs of anyone inside, even through walls. He moved the sensor around carefully, watching the tablet until he was satisfied that there was nothing living in the apartment. Not even a cat.

The door security was good but not hard. The clandestine service trained well and his new employer hired black hat hackers on a regular basis to give refresher courses to his troops. Unless it was a bank vault, Kearns could crack normal security pretty quickly. A bank vault would take some time.

Inside of four minutes he was opening the target’s door, closing it quickly behind him. He had two options here. Either wait for the target to come home or leave a booby trap. It was late. The target was either out to a late dinner, at the movies or the theater or she was with a boyfriend. If a boyfriend, it was possible she wouldn’t come back for the night.

Kearns was a believer in not wasting manpower. He had been working on security for the next op and he didn’t want to waste his time lying in wait for a journalist chick.

There were other ways.

He dug out a special kit from his backpack, treating the items very, very carefully. He wasn’t afraid of bullets and he wasn’t afraid of knives and he could take most men down fast in hand to hand. But this stuff—this stuff terrified him. Invisible enemies that he couldn’t fight scared the shit out of him.

Kearns hoped she’d come. A clean kill, made to look like a fall that broke her neck. He could do that, no problem. This stuff?—

Fuck.

His hands had almost trembled. You could not have shaky hands with this shit, because it would kill you deader than dirt. Worse than a bullet. A bullet was fast. This shit was not fast but deadly and painful.

He waited another five minutes for Redding to show up, so he could do this the old fashioned way, but the bitch wasn’t coming. Probably out fucking someone.

Okay. He looked inside his pack. Everything he needed for this was in a neat little kit. He pulled it out, gingerly. He knew from the briefing that nothing would go off until he set it off, but nonetheless, he treated it like the most fragile crystal.

It opened at a touch and he lifted out ten strips of adhesive material, two of which had a small bubble.

Sarin. Twenty six times more lethal than cyanide. Kearns had been around death a lot in his career. You could even say his career was dedicated to death and he was fine with that. But this scared him. It was a horrible death, unstoppable unless someone had a massive dose of atropine on hand, to be administered within ten minutes of exposure.

Kearns put an adhesive to the doorknob. The instant it stuck, the adhesive starting changing color until it became transparent. He put adhesives on every doorknob, on the refrigerator handle, on the intercom receiver, on the landline cordless handset. Two were placed inside the kitchen faucet and the bathroom faucet. At the first stream of water, the gas would release. All of that was redundant because she was going to be hit the instant she entered her apartment. Everything in the apartment was just overkill.

Kearns opened the front door, put the bubble adhesive to the frame of the front door, at the height of the face of a five foot five woman, placed a tiny trip wire that would disappear the instant the door was pulled open. When it was, a puff of sarin would blow right into her face.

Problem solved.

Kearns got out of there as fast as he could.

* * *

Jack kept Summer back with an arm as he pushed open the secret door. When the light came on, he saw instantly what this was and put his weapon away. Interesting, but not dangerous.

Well, dangerous maybe if it came out while Blake was alive. Summer was a journalist and Blake might have cared if people knew how he liked to fuck, but the fucker was dead and no one cared about his sex life.

Even if that sex life was…something else.

He heard Summer take in a shocked breath and turned to see her face. Those beautiful, silvery-gray eyes were wide, lovely mouth an O. She tried to come across as a tough-guy journalist but Jack had known her as a girl and she’d shown every emotion very clearly when she was young. When she’d first arrived, she didn’t even need to talk, everything was right there on her face.

She’d grown tougher, of course. And he was certain that political corruption and wrongdoing wouldn’t put that look on her face.

Whips and nipple clamps and butt plugs, though—those did.

Jack stepped farther into the room.

“It’s…huge,” Summer said, whispering.

“Yeah. I think it’s the entire next door apartment. He probably bought both at the same time.” They walked into a large room which would have been a big open space living room/dining room if people lived there instead of fucked there.

Everything was top of the line, looked brand new. There had to be half a million dollars in equipment there.

“Good God,” she breathed and Jack had to admit it was impressive. There was more than enough space and equipment to accommodate a good fifty people.

Summer stood in the middle of the room and made a complete circle. “I have no idea what half this stuff is for. This, for example.” She pointed to an intricately woven cylinder hanging from the ceiling.

“A bondage cage. Whoever is inside can’t move, is suspended in air.”

Summer wrinkled her nose. “God, I wouldn’t like that. And these?” She pointed to the glass top of a long beautifully crafted walnut case made out of an antique pool table. She leaned over to peer in, brow furrowed.

Jack leaned over with her, pointing to various items. “Okay, these are butt plugs, of various shapes and sizes and made of various materials.”

She turned her head so quickly her auburn hair whipped across his face. “But some of them look like they are made of glass!”

“They are made of glass, darling.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? What happens if it breaks…inside?”

Jack had never thought of that. “I doubt they break but if they did…ouch.”

She was so amazingly pretty when she concentrated. It was as if she’d been handed this puzzle she had to solve. “And these?”

He knew what they were for, too. “Butt plugs with horse hair attachments.”

“Whatever for?”

“When the plug is in, the horsehair pony tail sweeps down to the floor. For playing horsie.”

He guessed. It had never been his scene.

She looked sideways at him, frowning. “How come you know so much about this? Are you into kink?”

Jack kept a straight face but it was hard. “No, darling, I’m not into kink. If you haven’t forgotten, I am into pleasure. The old fashioned way.”

They were looking into each other’s eyes, noses an inch away from each other. Summer blushed a fiery red, a teenager’s blush. Something unusual to see in a grown woman.

No, she hadn’t forgotten.

Summer ignored the blush completely and was still frowning. “Then how come you know so much about” She swept her hand around the large room positively bristling with bondage toys, and paddles and whips and clamps. “This.”

“I had a CI—a confidential informant—in Bangkok. We used to meet in an S & M club. Those places define discretion. We asked for a private room and were guaranteed privacy. But I picked up a lot of…the lore. Saw some interesting things on the way to the private room.”

“I’ll just bet,” she said tartly.

Neither of them had shifted, they were still nose to nose.

Jack watched her eyes as he moved a tiny bit closer. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even breathe.

“But the thing is,” he said softly, looking around at all the sex toys lined up and arranged like well-organized and very expensive props backstage for a production directed by the Marquis de Sade, then looking back at her, “the sex is staged more than felt. It’s all carefully scripted. Nothing spontaneous about it at all. They are enacting something they see in their heads and it has nothing to do with the partner. Often they don’t even look at each other. They’re not looking at what’s…” he moved his head closer, “…right…” closer yet, “…in front of them.”

He closed his mouth over hers. Just their lips touching. He kept his hands to himself though what he wanted was to grab her head, hold her still for his kiss and just dive into her.

He wasn’t into kink, none of that bondage garbage moved him, but seeing some of the equipment, the sex toys, a whole room dedicated to sex—well, he’d flashed on having sex with Summer. He’d have to be dead not to. That week they’d been together fifteen years ago was imprinted on him.

Once Jack realized he was her first he’d been super careful with her. Gentle touches, soft sighs, lots of foreplay, making sure she was ready, was more than ready. He’d pulled out every thing he knew about sex to make it good for her. She’d been so shy and timid, everything had been so new to her.

But this was a grown-up Summer, a strong woman, one who’d meet him halfway. Not shy and passive, no. Strong, confident, sure. And he desired her. Was nearly crazy from wanting her.

Walking around this place dedicated to pure sex, he’d flashed on fucking her hard, moving in her as fast and as hard as he could and he’d gone stiff as iron. Thank God for long winter jackets.

Her mouth was warm and soft, but unmoving.

Damn. He’d miscalculated. The stab of lust he’d felt for this Summer—the smart, grown woman—wasn’t reciprocated.

Well, what did he expect? He’d fucked her and run all those years ago.

He moved his mouth gently over hers, barely touching her. He should open his eyes to see what was going on with her but he couldn’t. This was way too pleasurable and if he opened his eyes to see her indifferent or even disgusted…

He’d pull away.

Sure he would.

Jack didn’t go where he wasn’t wanted, never had, never would. But if his eyes were closed and he was drinking in the smell of her skin so close to his nose, the softness of her mouth, he didn’t have to stop right now. Did he?

Maybe he did.

He was just about to move his head away when—there! She sighed into his mouth and moved closer to him.

Yes! Jack all but shouted. He wasn’t alone in this. Or at least maybe she was only feeling one hundredth of what he was feeling, but she was feeling something. He moved closer, slowly brought up his gloved hand.

Something felt not quite right with that hand. He remembered how soft and warm her red hair felt, and he wasn’t quite getting the stimulus input he was expecting but there was no room in his head to examine this phenomenon because she was kissing him back. Her mouth opened and he slid inside and it was soft and warm in there, so fuck the hair. Jack’s hand covered the back of her head as he tilted his own to get a better taste of her and oh God, she was delicious.

When was the last time he kissed a woman? The memory was lost. When was the last time he’d kissed soft lips, felt another’s breath against his face, could lose himself in a woman? How could he have forgotten the magic of a woman, the soft scented fragrance of a woman’s skin?

And this wasn’t just any woman. This was Summer. Summer who’d been so sweet all those years ago. Summer, whose articles he read faithfully so he felt like he knew how her mind worked, felt like he’d walked around inside her head.

And Summer, with the glossy auburn hair and the pale gray eyes and the slim curvy figure who made men’s heads turn. Summer, whose mouth tasted like heaven, like some impossible heaven made just for him, after so many years spent in hell.

Jack lived his life in a state of Defcon IV which had been bumped up to Defcon II these past six months. He was ready for an attack on his life 24/7, all his senses open to the outside world and its dangers. Danger could come from any corner and he’d lived the last six months waking up each morning accepting that it might be his last day on earth. Walking around, he’d felt a constant prickle up and down his spine, all senses projected outward.

Yet in here, surrounded by whips and things designed to hurt and degrade, right here he could feel his senses spiral inward until the only thing in the world was his mouth on hers.

And all the sexual desire he’d repressed in these past six months—sex being the very last thing on his mind, too dangerous to even contemplate—came rushing back in one hot liquid flow, right here, in a den of pain of all places. Well, he was feeling pain, that was for sure. His dick was about to explode out of its skin. Splat—Jack-dick everywhere.

He’d been in hiding so long, trying to be invisible, completely on his own, out on the farthest tip of the branch, that he’d forgotten he was a man. Forgotten about other people, about women. But he remembered now. God yes, he remembered.

They were standing now, pressed against each other, Summer’s soft, small hands clutching his shoulders as if she needed help staying upright. Fuck yeah. He needed some help, too. He moved slightly so that Summer’s back was to the table and he was pressing against her, first because it felt so good to have his dick pressing tightly against her belly, easing just a little of the pain and second, because his knees felt weak, like they couldn’t support his weight. But leaning against Summer, dick against her belly, chest against her soft breasts, mouth to her mouth—yeah. He could do that.

The kiss grew harder and she was into it. He slanted his mouth over hers again and didn’t have to open her mouth with his. No, she was right there, tongue stroking his. The first time she did that he felt his dick swell. Even though every drop of blood in his body was now in his dick, even though he was sure he couldn’t get any harder, he did.

Jack settled more heavily against her, feeling all that warmth and softness after so long in the cold, hard world. He drew in a deep breath, breathing her in too, and oh, God, the sheer delight.

Delight warred with pure lust. They were two entirely different things. Delight was lazy, willing to cling to the moment for hours, kissing on the lawn on a sun-dappled afternoon. Losing yourself in the kiss, no time element at all, no driving toward any goal, just a long meandering path amid the flowers.

Lust no. That was entirely different. Lust was harder-edged, more driven. More single-minded. Lust knew exactly where it wanted to go. His lust did, anyway. It wanted to dive straight into Summer, slide into her, feel her all around him. As it was, he could feel his heartbeat in his dick, pumping hard, faster than normal.

Lust was winning out. Jack held the back of Summer’s head still, latex or not, and dove deeper into her mouth, licking her, pulling back for an instant to nip at her lips with his teeth, then back in.

His other hand went around her back, slid down her coat to cup her ass, press her hard against him. Through the layers of their clothes, she felt him. There was a tiny little jerk when she felt how hard he was. Maybe she could feel the heat, too, through all those clothes, because he could feel it. His dick was on fire, about to spontaneously combust.

He hitched her up, ready to lay her across the display table of butt plugs—and Christ, that idea excited him even more, even if he didn’t even like the idea of them—when she stiffened and pulled her face away.

Jack’s eyes opened and he saw her, mouth wet and swollen from his kisses, cheeks a deep rose that was the most gorgeous color he’d ever seen, her normally smooth hair a wild, dark red tangle around her face.

If there was one thing Jack knew—besides recruiting and running agents and infiltrating bad places—it was female arousal and he was looking right at it. Dilated pupils, vein hammering in her throat, mouth slack to pull in oxygen. She was ready and by God, so was he.

He bent his head to kiss her again and she jerked away and when he looked at her again, it was all over.

She’d closed up completely, face as expressionless as a porcelain doll’s. He looked down at her and read absolutely nothing there.

She was gone. That beautiful woman kissing him like there was no tomorrow—she’d left the building and left a beautiful mannequin in her stead.

Summer pushed against his chest lightly, but no matter how light the touch the message was clear— get off me .

Jack stepped back, but it was hard. Was it all those months—years really—of abstinence? Because he didn’t remember it being this hard. Not many women had said no to him, but there’d been a few. He’d never had a problem with stepping back but right now his body wasn’t obeying.

His knees were weak, his hands didn’t want to leave her, above all his dick didn’t want to be left out in the cold like this, all revved up with nowhere to go. If it couldn’t be inside her, at least it could be pressed against her.

But Summer was slipping out sideways and was no longer between him and the table. She was standing a foot away from him, smoothing out her hair, expression cool.

“God.” She gave a harsh laugh but laughter didn’t reach her eyes. “Nothing has changed, has it? Still the same old Jack.”

Everything has changed, he wanted to answer. And I’m not the same old Jack. I’m someone else entirely.

But what good would it do to protest? From Summer’s point of view, she’d last seen him when he’d left her for no good reason and now, after fifteen years, he was trying to seduce her again.

No use explaining that the Jack who’d left her was a boy long dead. And the Jack who desired her was another man, who was turned on by the woman she’d become. He wasn’t any longer the young man who could be turned on by any woman who didn’t make dogs whine in the streets and had the right plumbing.

So he shut up and tried to beat down his hard-on.

He ran a shaking hand down his face, hoping she didn’t notice the trembling. Luckily, she was looking elsewhere, so she wouldn’t have to look at him.

If she thought he’d apologize she was wrong.

“Let’s shoot the place.”

Her head turned sharply to him, hair belling around her face. “Let’s what?”

“Shoot.” Jack pulled his cell out. “Take photographs. And videos of the place.”

She studied his face for a moment and he hoped that fifteen years in the Clandestine Service were enough to hide everything he was feeling at the moment. Massive loneliness. A desperate yearning to connect with this woman. And a lust that was barely in his control.

Training won out because she didn’t say anything, just pulled her own cell out and studied the room. “I’ll take these two walls.” She pointed to the north and west walls. “And you take the other two. Then we’ll shoot the rest of the apartment.”

Jack nodded and swallowed a lot of things he wanted to say.

It went fast. The place had no hidden compartments. Why should it? The whole damned room was hidden from view, from outside eyes. Jack filmed, not just shot. On a grid, as if the entire wall were a crime scene.

Blake had been really thorough—he had every toy on earth and some Jack had never heard of. Better Homes & Dungeons.

It was interesting in a freakish sort of way, but there was nothing there from an intel point of view.

Jack and Summer finished more or less at the same time and exited Blake’s House of Pain into the bedroom. Jack gently pushed the bookcase until he heard the click of the lock.

“Now.” He looked at Summer who looked back, perfectly calm, as if he were the postman or her banker. Nothing to do with her.

For an instant, Jack rebelled. There had been an undeniable connection when they’d kissed. He’d kissed enough lady frogs to understand that. And goddamn it, Summer had felt it, too. Pretending indifference wasn’t going to work, he’d break down that wall, whatever it took. Now was not the right time, but the right time was coming up real soon.