Hell on Wheels (Black Knights Inc. #1)(32)
“Fuck!” Frank raked a hand through his hair and winced when he realized he’d let his potty mouth run away with him again in front of the ladies. She wondered if he was careful to act like a gentleman when he headed up north.
Oh yes, Becky knew all about his visits to Lincoln Park. She just didn’t know who he was visiting. And short of following him—she still had some pride left where he was concerned, thank God—she’d exhausted all other avenues of discovering who his secret trysting partner, or partners, ugh, were.
“First, it’s the FBI; now maybe we can add the lovely CIA to this unholy alphabet soup mix,” Frank growled. Shaking his head, he glanced at his timepiece. “It’s oh-one-hundred. Let’s hit our racks for the night. Maybe tomorrow will shed some light on this…this,” he shook his head again, “whatever the hell this is.”
Yeah, and maybe tomorrow Becky would finally get up the nerve to tell him how she really felt.
And also maybe tomorrow pigs would fly.
***
Ali couldn’t sleep.
It had nothing to do with her eight-hour nap or her strange surroundings, because even though the guest loft at Black Knights Inc. was more the size of a hotel room, just big enough for a little kitchenette and a white-tiled bathroom with a shower stall—at least Grigg had been telling her the truth about something—it was still beautifully appointed and completely welcoming.
The warm brick walls added texture and ambiance to the silver ductwork and exposed pipes overhead. Whoever did the murals out in the shop had obviously put their hand to different work, evidenced by the abstract diptych painting above the bed. The technique was totally different, but the barrage of color was unmistakably signature. It tied in beautifully with the turquoise-and-green coverlet on the bed and the area rug partially covering the lacquered, original-wood flooring.
So the room and the to-die-for feather mattress weren’t the problem. Neither was her insomnia due to Peanut curling his substantial self against her side with his motor running full tilt.
Well…maybe that had a little bit to do with it. It was sort of like lying next to a jet engine.
But no, her real problem? She was scared.
She thought she was scared when she hopped in her car back in North Carolina with the intent to make it to Chicago without stopping to sleep. Now, she understood she’d only been spooked. Because at the time she’d expected to show up here, present her problem, pass it off to Nate, let him handle it, and head back home after maybe a minor excursion to the shops on the Magnificent Mile.
Oh ho! Boy, had she been na?ve. Not only did that not happen, but she also learned she was bugged, her brother had gone off the reservation, his FBI contact was dead, and she was likely being followed and threatened at gunpoint by the CIA.
Now she was well and truly scared.
Whose life was she living?
Not hers, that’s for sure. Things like this didn’t happen to kindergarten teachers. Unless of course those kindergarten teachers had older brothers specializing in covert operations for the government. Which, unfortunately for her, she did.
Dang it, Grigg! What in the world were you thinking getting me involved in this?
As soon as she had the thought, she felt disloyal. Grigg would never knowingly put her in danger. There was something else going on here, something niggling at the back of her mind like a worm. But when she tried to focus on it, it just slipped farther and farther into the dark depths of her subconscious.
Okay, so it was time to think of something else. That’s what her mom always advised when her belabored brain was flitting around an answer like a butterfly flits around a flower.
Taking a deep breath, she cleared her head. And what do you know? The first thing that leapt to mind was that wonderfully horrible day on the beach with Nate. The way the hot sun had warmed her bare shoulders. The way the cool waves had crashed to shore with foam and fury. The way the seagulls had cried in seeming sympathy with the breaking of her heart. And the way Nate had instinctively understood the strange longing inside her. The unlikely need to reaffirm beautiful, vibrant life after facing the dark specter of death.
Oh, yes, it wasn’t a new story or a novel reaction to loss. Probably as old as time. The cavemen no doubt mounted their mates in heated urgency after one of the clan passed on to that great unknown. But the commonness of her reaction hadn’t registered at the time.
She’d been dying inside and she’d needed…something. Something real and raw. Something to keep her from falling into an abyss of black sorrow so deep she’d never return.
And somehow Nate had known. He’d understood. Dark, scowling, brooding Nathan Weller had seen inside her, past all the pain and despair. He’d given her a rare and wonderful gift that day.
Tender.
That’s what he’d been when she’d pulled her desperate mouth from his surprised one to whisper recklessly, “Make love to me.”
She remembered now how his Adam’s apple bobbed as he searched her face as only he could. With that savage alertness, that probing intensity. Black eyes searing into her very soul. He’d reclaimed her mouth in a kiss that still brought flaming heat to her cheeks.
It was passionate, but, oh so carefully and tenderly thorough. He’d made love to her mouth. There was just no other way to describe it. Possessive, fierce, compassionate love. And when his big hand with its warrior’s collection of calluses and scars softly cupped her left breast, she’d sighed. With a gentle pass of one large thumb, he’d brought her nipple to aching attention.