Love and Let Die (Masters and Mercenaries #5)(27)

“Her sister said she’d call her back, but that she thought she had a line on someone. Charlotte didn’t bother to mention she’d just been shot at,” Jake explained. “She told her sister to call her back and now she’s waiting.”

“She seems to like to smell things, boss.” Adam looked up. “She’s been smelling the jacket you keep in your office. She’s nosy, too. She’s looked through all your drawers. She also called out for pizza. She doesn’t act like a woman who’s terribly worried about being shot at.”

“Because she’s used to it.” He wondered just how many times something like this had happened to her. What had the last five years really been like? If she was telling the truth and she’d walked away from both the syndicate and screwed Eli Nelson, then her every moment had to be a delicate balance of working to stay alive. The Russians alone would be hell to stay clear of, not to mention someone with Nelson’s talents.

Absently, he reached over and grabbed a donut. It had been a nasty day. He needed it. He watched the monitor on Adam’s computer. Charlie was sitting at his desk, her legs curled into her chest as she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. He could see the long line of her throat and how it sloped gracefully toward the curve of her breasts. Though the camera was black and white, he knew how perfect her skin was, the only thing marring it being the scars, and yet he’d always paid such attention to them. He’d kissed her scars over and over, tracing them with his tongue as though they were a roadmap to the woman and he could learn her through touch and taste.

He bit into the donut and nearly sighed. Lemon. He f*cking loved lemon. Tart. Sweet. Tangy. Just like Charlie.

“Hey, I brought you some coffee. Do you want me to clear these out, Ian?” Grace held a mug of coffee in her hands and gestured to the boxes of donuts.

“Hey, I’ve only had one,” Adam said, jumping up, his hands reaching straight for the lemons, the little f*cker.

Ian batted him away. “Mine.”

“Dude, there are like thirty donuts left.”

“Anything else, but the lemons are mine.” How long had it been since he indulged in something as simple as a lemon-filled donut? Forever. He took a sip of the coffee Grace had handed him and his eyes closed in pleasure. “Oh, that is so good. Did you change coffee brands?”

Grace had the oddest look on her face as she stared up at him. “No, after what Charlotte said earlier, I thought I would try something new. I made it three times stronger than I normally would.”

Adam shuddered. “It tastes like motor oil.”

“Shut the f*ck up, Adam. It tastes like heaven.” Yeah, he would have Grace teach his new sub how to make his coffee. Because he was still totally doing that. Charlie had made him deeply aware that he needed an outlet. Just because she remembered he liked lemon donuts and how he wanted his coffee didn’t make up for the whole screwing him over thing.

“You know what would take the motor oil taste out of my mouth?” Adam asked. “Lemon.”

“Fuck you. Buy your own lemon donuts.”

Grace sighed. “Also Derek Brighton is here. I put him in Alex’s office. Yours was full.”

He picked up what was left of the box and walked out. “Alex. Your office. Now.”

“Awesome,” he heard Adam say as he walked out. “I hate it when he stops using verbs. If I get scurvy it’s his fault for hogging the lemons.”

Alex caught up to him. “The bullet is a .30 caliber. It doesn’t tell us much. Probably from a sniper rifle. Simon and Jesse are working on trajectory. They’re pretty sure the shooter was roughly seven or eight stories up and to the northwest. There are two hotels that might work. Sorry. We can’t be more specific without bringing out some equipment that would tip off the cops.”

“I would bet you’re going to find that the rifle used was a Dragunov. It’s what the Denisovitch syndicate uses. They believe in supporting Mother Russia. They also tend to work clean. Tell Simon to try to figure out what room he was in, but I would bet my life they won’t find a damn thing. Our shooter’s gone.” He took another bite of his donut. It was the only f*cking thing that had gone right all day. “Shit. She needs to leave.”

“Or we need to protect her,” Alex suggested.

“Or we need to let them take her out and then all my problems would be solved.” He said the words and knew he would never f*cking let it happen.

“Ian,” Alex sighed.

He was deeply grateful to be able to push through Alex’s door. He didn’t want to get into it with Alex. Ever since Alex and Eve had reconnected, Alex had been all about his freaking feelings and shit. Now Alex expected him to have feelings, too. Come to think of it, that was Charlie’s fault. All bad things were Charlie’s fault.

All good things came from lemon cream.

“Derek, good to see you.” Ian greeted the big cop who paced across the floor of Alex’s office.

Derek Brighton had been on Ian’s Green Beret team. Ian kept up with all his former team mates, but he’d always been close with Derek. When Ian and Alex had looked for a city to start a business in, it had been Derek who advised them to move to Texas. Derek was their liaison with the DPD, and they needed him far more often than Ian would like.

“I would love to say the same, but I’m more inclined to ask why the f*ck I have two investigators downstairs who firmly believe that a possible terrorist attack was nothing more than a car backfiring.”