“You’d always have a job here,” Senior said in his gravelly voice.
“Thanks. Though it would entail working with these bozos here. But they’re still better than most of the Bureau pukes I have to deal with.” He turned to the computer monitor. “So. Ex-CIA puke, do you have any evidence that would stand up in court? Because Blake would lawyer up fast with the best mouthpiece money can buy. They’d line up to defend him in a high-profile trial. Did you follow the laws of discovery in tracking down Blake?”
“No. I know he’s guilty but cannot prove it in a court of law.”
“There you have it,” Isabel said. “So when do I call? When do we start this?”
“Tomorrow,” Joe said.
“Right now,” Isabel said and picked up the phone and scrolled through her contacts again.
“It’s 8:00 p.m.,” Joe protested.
“That makes it only 11:00 p.m. in Washington. Hector is a night owl.”
Before Joe could stop her, she’d pressed the number, on speed dial. Everyone could hear the phone ringing, hear when someone picked up.
And Isabel’s body language changed instantly.
She’d been standing ramrod straight, eyes flashing, face tight. The instant Blake picked up, she seemed to lose a couple of inches in height. She slumped, her face grew soft and sad. Her hand trembled. Her voice trembled.
“Uncle Hector?” she sounded apprehensive, frightened. “It’s Isabel.” She sighed. “No, I’m still in Portland. You knew I moved over here, right? Yeah.” She listened. “Not too great, Uncle Hector, to tell you the truth. I can’t seem to move on. And I’m having...” She made an audible swallow. “I’m having nightmares, Uncle Hector. Terrible nightmares. Sleeping pills don’t help, alcohol doesn’t help, nothing helps. I keep having this same nightmare over and over and somehow you’re in them. Always. It’s so...so horrible.”
She started breathing heavily. Tears were in her voice. Joe had to check to make sure she wasn’t really crying. Her cheeks were bone-dry, but you’d swear she was crying. “I don’t know what to do, who to turn to.” A long sigh. Her face radiated sadness. She perked up. “Oh God really? You can? When? Tomorrow? Oh, thank you Uncle Hector, you have no idea what that means to me. I’ll text you my address. Thank you.” Her voice throbbed with gratitude. “I’m looking forward to it. Bye.”
She pressed End and straightened up, the lost look gone, voice strong, staring into the phone screen as if she was seeing him. “I’m looking forward to tearing your heart out and eating it, you scum-sucking son of a bitch.” She looked up. “We’re taking that fucker down.”
The new Isabel rode back with him in his SUV. It was icy, so Joe had to pay a little attention to the driving, but most of him was focused on her. On the Isabel who wanted to eat Hector Blake’s heart.
Of course, Joe was down with that. Blake was an evil, scum-sucking douche bag, but Joe was used to being the one who planned revenge. It was all he’d done as a soldier. He’d joined as an eighteen-year-old right after 9/11, just like Metal. He hadn’t lost his immediate family, like Metal had, but his country had been attacked and his country was his family.
So through all the harsh training that led to his acing BUD/S and surviving Hell Week and all the years of ops, he’d had one thought—revenge. He was going to get back at the fuckers who’d fucked with his country.
This was the very first time that he was contemplating revenge on a man, or men—because Blake couldn’t do what he’d done without a team behind him—who were fellow citizens.
And he wasn’t even the one who was going to exact revenge. Isabel was. He was merely backup. The muscle. It freaked him out every time he thought about it.
“Stop worrying so hard,” Isabel said with a sidelong glance at him. “I can actually hear the worry vibes. It’s distracting.”
“Sorry. They come naturally.”
“You’re a navy SEAL. You guys aren’t supposed to worry or feel anxious.”
True. He’d never felt anxious when going out on an op. He and his team were as well trained and equipped as it was possible to be. They went out, got the job done and came back. Alive.
“I’m just backup this time. You’ll be on the front lines. If that isn’t crazy making, I don’t know what is.”
“I’ll have you guys with me. All of you are former navy SEALs, even Nick. Felicity on the computer. What can go wrong?”
Joe’s sweaty hands tightened on the steering wheel. “God. Don’t say that! That’s like the pretty young chick who goes down into the cellar alone in her baby doll nightgown when there’s a serial killer on the loose. That’s just inviting trouble.”
“You think too much,” she said. “Don’t think and drive.”
Joe shot her a glance then back to the road. Or rather, took his eyes off her enough to glance at the road. Because Isabel was an eye magnet. So beautiful it hurt and right now she was crackling with energy. What drove her was the thought of whacking a man, or at least putting him behind bars for the rest of her life, but what she made Joe think of was sex. Hot, sweaty sex. She looked almost aroused. High color, eyes gleaming, lips full and pouty with a pillowy look. Thank God she was wearing a down coat and he couldn’t see her breasts because he’d take odds that her nipples were hard.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking because under his coat he was hard as a rock.
Can it, he told himself. No sex tonight. He would hold her and comfort her and give her courage. She also needed to sleep. She’d said she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the Massacre. Tomorrow Isabel was going to face a mass murderer. She was going to walk a dangerous tightrope and needed to be firing on all cylinders.
So sex was out tonight.
He clenched the steering wheel harder with wet palms because just thinking sex in the same context as Isabel made his dick kick in his pants. It was going to be hell holding Isabel all night with a massive woodie but he was a SEAL and SEALs were the ones who did the hard things.
His face twitched. Hard was not a word that should be in his head at this moment.
Was Isabel thinking about sex? Who knew what was in her head?
Joe swerved and parked his vehicle. Usually Isabel waited until he got out, rounded the vehicle and opened her door. It was still icy slick and she was often unsteady on her feet. Now, though, she was already halfway to her door by the time he got out. She punched in the code, had it read her thumbprint then just as the heavy steel door they’d put in snicked open she looked over her shoulder at him and the hair rose on the back of his neck.
The look she gave him was trouble. Pure sex, pure trouble. He leaped up the three steps in one bound, pushed the door open above her shoulder and ushered her in. He could hear his blood pulsing in his ears.
Isabel shoved him against the door, stepping forward until she was pressed against him. “Now,” she said in a low voice that sent shivers up his spine.
Now.
Oh God, yes.
Joe was holding her tightly, lost in her kiss, aware that his arms were full of...down coat. Her mouth was soft, warm, tongue licking his lips.
He lifted his mouth for a second. “Off.”
Smart girl, she understood. Good thing, because he wasn’t capable of full sentences. Gloves off, hands undoing the buttons of her coat, then unzipping his. Outer layers off. Now he could feel her shape, the long line of her back, the small waist, the rounded hips. He cupped her ass, lifting her up against his hard-on and she breathed out heavily and bit his lip.
An electric shock ran through him and now it wasn’t just his dick that was hard. He was hard all over, as if his skin was too small to contain him. Muscles tense, solid as rock.