Under Fire (Elite Force #3)

Under Fire (Elite Force #3) Page 21

He weighed the options, hated like hell to drag anyone else in… but if what Harris said was right? If Sylvia was concerned enough to want him off base? For more than Rachel’s sake, he needed to unravel this mess fast.

And like it or not, he needed help, and when it came to keeping Rachel safe, he would take all the help he could get.

Liam closed the back of the Suburban. “I need Cuervo to do some recon for me, see if he can find Brandon Harris before anyone else does.”

“I could do that for you.”

“You’ve got a wife and I’ve already put you two at risk enough. Besides, you’re supposed make an appearance at work tomorrow, and Cuervo has the day off.”

“And Cuervo needs to do what?”

“I’ve got an idea where Brandon Harris may be. If he’s there, I need Cuervo to hide him.” He slid another piece of paper from his pocket with the name of the dog-sitting service. “Start here looking for him. Once Cuervo locates Harris, use that info I gave you and contact me. I’ll set up a meet.”

“Call me dense, but why not find him yourself?”

“I need for Cuervo to figure out if Brandon’s being watched first.” Palm trees rustled overhead and seabirds called in the distance, but there were no other noises, no one approaching from the outside world. “I also need time to make sure I’m not being watched.”

“The guy really does know something.”

That much was certain. “I believe he does. Something big, and he’s holding back. Somebody thinks Rachel knows more than she’s telling. And I have to figure out what exactly they believe she knows before the wrong people try to pry it out of her.” His hand gravitated to his chrome Desert Eagle strapped to his waist.

“What if she really is holding back? No offense, but your track record in reading women isn’t the best.”

“No offense taken. There’s no denying my past.” Muscles kinked along his back at memories of his second wife cheating, other wives walking because they couldn’t take the crap that came with this job. He had plenty of reasons not to trust women, but damned if he could leave Rachel hanging out to dry. “My gut tells me she’s innocent in all of this. There’s nothing for her to gain and it’s clear someone is seriously gunning for her. I can’t walk away.”

“For what it’s worth, I really hope your gut is a hundred percent on the mark about her.” Wade exhaled hard in the early morning heat, looking around the property, on guard. “Take care of yourself out there. If things go seriously to hell, contact Special Agent Sylvia Cramer.”

“You’re sure about her?”

“As sure as I possibly can be, and she’s a better option than that suck-up Bernard. Watch your back regardless.”

“Will do,” Liam answered as the screen door squeaked open, drawing his eyes to the two women stepping out.

Drawing his eyes to Rachel.

She’d changed into fresh clothes borrowed from Sunny, shorts and a bright pink T-shirt with a recycle symbol in the middle. Radiating energy, she took the stairs at a sprint, each step determined, committed. Five feet, three inches of pure momentum, she took his breath away.

He blinked himself back to more practical thoughts. Rachel had pulled her wavy hair back into a high ponytail off her neck, to stay cooler, no doubt. Perfect for where they were headed next. The safest place he knew, and yet at the moment, nowhere felt safe enough where she was concerned.

He turned to Wade. “If something happens to me—”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Wade said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll look out for her.”

Nothing else needed to be said.

It was time to roll.

Catriona wondered what Brandon would do if she just crawled right on top of him as he slept on her sofa. She would kiss him, feel the warm heat of his solid body against her. Maybe even slide her hand into his pants and stroke him awake.

Although on second thought, probably not wise to startle awake someone with PTSD.

So instead, as she stood in the archway between her dining room and living room, she allowed herself the luxury of staring at his big body sprawled on her mother’s red velvet Victorian sofa. Harley kept guard over her owner from the floor. The shaggy Australian shepherd–beagle mix kept her head on her paws, but her eyes tracked back and forth, one blue, one brown.

Brandon twitched every so often, even jolted so hard sometimes, she thought he might bolt upright. Yet he stayed asleep.

His hand slid from the sofa and Harley nosed his palm. A sigh rattled through Brandon as his fingers slid into his dog’s thick, tricolor coat.

What a restless way to make it through the night. He must be exhausted. What would it feel like to stretch out beside him, not for sex? Just to caress back the thick thatch of hair from his forehead until he settled into peaceful sleep.

They’d gotten back late after driving over to Rachel’s. A fruitless trip, in that they didn’t find her. On the bright side, at least he’d gotten a voice mail from her, one that had made him furrow his brow mighty deeply, considering he should have been relieved to hear her voice. He’d tried calling Rachel back, but no luck.

At least they knew she was okay. And Rachel’s other two dogs were safe here.

Granted, all of the animals were agitated from so many drive-bys this morning. Usually, her little beach dead-end road was quiet, other than people dropping off their pets. There was a sign at the top of the corner that plainly said “Private” and “No Thru Traffic.”

There had even been fresh tire tracks outside in the driveway when they’d gotten back last night. Which could just mean someone had pulled in to turn around, then left. She’d actually forgotten about it until now. She’d been distracted from the tire marks when Brandon reached to take the pillow and blanket from her before crashing on her sofa.

And since he was still sleeping, she needed to keep the dogs quiet so they didn’t wake Brandon. She pulled her eyes away from him and slipped through the kitchen to the back door to meet clients for the day. With luck, they would all drop off their pooches before he woke up, because she was really looking forward to sharing breakfast with him.

A year ago, she wouldn’t have had the confidence to pursue him, but building her own business had given her a new sense of her own worth. She didn’t need to “settle,” the way her mother had always told her. And she didn’t need to assume guys were only interested because of her parents’ nonexistent money.

Yes, she’d dated a couple of losers in the past, but in those days, she’d been too swayed by her mother’s influence. She hadn’t trusted her own judgment enough.

But no longer. Others might have concerns about Brandon, but she saw deeper. She saw the man, and by God, she wanted him. She would find out what it was like to sleep beside him. To soothe him back to a peaceful rest when dreams made him twitchy.

Scratching Tabitha’s head on her way past, she grabbed a bag of dog biscuits and headed for the fenced area. Just in time too, as another car cruised by slowly. Sheesh, was it her imagination, or was everyone driving silver sedans today?

Rachel grabbed the roll bar on the rusted piece of crap Jeep Liam had bought with cash at ten this morning. By eleven, they’d parked the Suburban at an airport and started driving south. She’d thought at first he planned to go find Brandon, but they’d passed that turnoff hours ago. Now it was late afternoon. The open expanse of ocean had long ago shifted to marshy everglades.

Trees stretched skyward, creating an intermittent leafy canopy. Disco was seriously loving the open-air ride, his muzzle tipped up into the wind, taking in the rush of scents.

With no roof, if it rained, they were screwed.

They hit a pothole and the nonexistent shock absorbers did little to keep her from lifting off the seat. Only the belt kept her inside. Disco jockeyed for balance in back with a skill earned from climbing over collapsed rubble during training and searches. The Lab tried to wedge himself between the seats, huffing as he rested his nose on her shoulder.

The Jeep ate up the miles to heaven only knew where. She wished she could just let the wind unravel the tension inside her the way it played with Liam’s blond hair. But there wasn’t enough wind to sweep away the stress of the past twenty-four hours. She’d been threatened. Almost run off the road. Questioned by the OSI. Running from the OSI.

And in the middle of it all, she’d reunited with the one man to break through her barriers since Caden had died.

For about the fiftieth time today, she wished she’d come to see Liam when she first moved to Florida so they could have sorted through these feelings in a normal setting.

“I’m sorry for all you have to do for me. That sure was a lot of money to spend on a disposable car.”

“Who says I intend to throw it away? I love Jeeps. And after seeing my pristine one get trashed, I may go for the beat-up look from now on.” He draped his wrist over the steering wheel, wind ruffling his close-shorn hair. “When insurance pays on the other one, I’ll make out like a bandit.”

His weathered skin soaked up more of the sun high overhead, his five-o’clock shadow shifting more into a scruffy beard. He wore camo pants and a simple T-shirt now, looking more like a hunter than a clean-cut military man. The transformation was about more than the clothes. He’d somehow… changed.

And she found this side of him every bit as much of a turn-on as the other facets of Liam McCabe she’d seen so far. He was a formidable man.

Disco sighed again, letting loose a hefty dose of dog breath.

“Fine, Disco. Come on up here, boy.” She hugged her knees, the back so crammed with gear, he might as well take up residence on the floorboards in front of her. Once her dog settled, she turned back to Liam. “You’re nice to make this sound like it isn’t a huge pain in the ass.”

“We really don’t have a choice, do we?”

“We? Me. I don’t have a choice. You do. This isn’t your mess.”

“Well, it is now. And believe me, I wouldn’t have left the base if I hadn’t thought it was absolutely necessary. If Special Agent Cramer hadn’t thought it was necessary. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Holy crap. She slumped back in her seat. It was worse than a matter of not trusting the OSI to believe her. If Agent Cramer actually wanted them away from the base, then something seriously bad was going on there.

“Can you tell me where we’re heading now?” She tipped a bottle of water up. Then passed it to Liam. They needed to stay hydrated in this heat. Sure, it was a small way to take care of him, to have his back, but she would do what she could when she could.

He took the bottle from her and placed his mouth where hers had just been. Such a simple move. But so intimate all the same.

Liam passed the drink back to her. “I know a place in the Everglades where we should be able to hang out until I get a better handle on what’s going down. I’ve got some feelers out to find Harris,” he said vaguely, “and I want us to be available for a meet if that all works out.”

“Why not try to find him ourselves?” The thought of how Brandon was going to freak out, to think she’d sold him out… She shivered in spite of the sweltering Florida heat. “He’s not… stable.”

“I understand that. And I also get that you’re in danger.” His jaw flexed. “I need to make sure he’s not being watched before I put you in his path again.”

“Oh God”—she pushed the heel of her hand against the throbbing headache starting to build—“I didn’t even consider that, and I should have. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. You were right to come to me. I have access to training and resources that were closed off to you—to Harris too, since people weren’t listening to him.” He inched up in his seat, pulled a slip of paper out of his back pocket, and passed it to her. “Contact information to reach members of my team. If things go to hell out there, you’re not alone. You can turn to my team. I trust every one of them with my life. They’ll take care of you.”