Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(10)

We took enough precautions. We made sure to cover our tracks.

But only after Billingsworth, that nosy prick, had begun asking too many questions about the origins of certain campaign funds, prompting R.D. and the CIA agent to do some housecleaning. The amount of money lost in process, campaign money that’d been paramount to easily securing R.D.’s future plans, was infuriating.

Still, there was some satisfaction, unsavory as it was, in knowing the only person who knew the true origins of that money was now dead, thanks to two of the boys from The Project…

R.D. raked in a steadying breath. “Keep me informed as the situation unfolds.”

The deep sigh on the other end of the line was annoying. “That’s been our deal all along.”

“Yes. Indeed it has been.” With that, R.D. hit the end button and sat back, feeling optimistic for the first time in months.

Of course, it wouldn’t do to get one’s hopes up. Rock was a slippery bastard if ever there was one. And if anyone could slither out from under the wide net the CIA was bound to cast, it was him.

***

She actually thought he’d been about to shoot her…

Rock pressed a hand to his aching chest as he trudged back to the spot where he’d dropped his pack. In the past six months, he’d suffered under the knowledge the Black Knights would be inclined to believe him guilty—why wouldn’t they? They’d seen the evidence against him—but he hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to bear witness to their presumption until this very moment.

And despite all of that, despite the pain in his heart knowing he’d lost their respect and trust, what had he almost done?

He’d almost kissed Vanessa Cordero, that’s what.

Which just goes to show what a goddamned imbécile he really was, lower than a toad in a dry well. Because kissing her would’ve done nothing but make a bad situation worse. It would’ve done nothing but give her hope when there was no hope to be had.

Chancing a glance over his shoulder, he quickly forgot his own misery when he saw the whites of her wide eyes shining like twin beacons through the darkness. It didn’t take someone with his particular skills at reading people, or his ability to pick up on subtle facial cues, to recognize the poor woman was scared to death. And her fear didn’t have anything to do with the eerie, barking hoot of a nearby mottled owl, because she’d been immune to the creepy, almost ethereal sounds of the jungle before sunset.

Oui, it was as obvious as the nose on his face; Vanessa Cordero was terrified of the dark.

Pourquoi? Of course, the reason behind her fear didn’t really matter. The fact that she was this scared at all had him pausing beside his pack, rolling in his lips as he considered his options.

One: He could lead her back to Santa Elena, which would mean two hours of marching through the dense, dark jungle having to listen to her breath hitch every other heartbeat. Or two: He could take her back to his tree house—which was only a fifteen-minute hike—and then send her on her merry way in the morning.

That second option meant he’d have to spend the night with her. Alone. In a somewhat confined space. When he hadn’t had a woman in a very, very long time…

Vanessa made the decision for him when a noisy clatter sounded behind them and she jumped on his back, her thighs squeezing his waist and her arms wrapped around his neck in a choke-hold that immediately had his eyes bulging as he struggled to breathe.

What in the w—

That’s as far as he got before a second loud rattle had her climbing him like a cat climbs a tree, finding footholds and handholds on his knees, gear belt, and shoulders. It was either help her reach her goal or suffer serious injury, so he palmed her ass—sweet Lord in heaven!—and gave her a little boost. And, to his utter astonishment, the next moment found her sitting on his shoulders, shining the penlight around the forest canopy with one hand while the other sunk deep into his hair, threatening to rip out the whole kit and kaboodle by the roots.

“What was that?” she breathed as he blinked away the tears that sprung to his eyes. He felt a few hairs pull loose.

And when he fantasized about having Vanessa’s thighs wrapped around his ears? Boy howdy, you better believe he never envisioned it quite like this.

“It was just a bird,” he assured her as he reached up to gently untangle her fingers from his hair, rubbing his abused scalp in the process. Grabbing her by the waist, he tried to ignore how right it felt to have his hands on her, how taut her flesh felt beneath his fingers, as he lowered her to the ground. No sooner did her toes touch the good ol’ terra firma than she latched on to his arm with a claw-like hand.

Okay, so the tree house it is. Because the poor woman would probably need to be fitted for a straitjacket if he tried to march her all the way back to Santa Elena in the dark.

“A bird?” Her voice broke on a frightened edge. “What kind of bird makes that noise? It sounds like bones rattling.”

Oui, that’s exactly what it sounded like, which, he had to admit, was pretty spooky even for someone who wasn’t scared of the dark. For someone who was? Sheer, unadulterated terror…and the inclination to climb on top of the nearest solid structure, obviously.

“It’s called a Black Guan. And that’s just the noise its feathers make when it flies,” he informed her reassuringly.

“You’re kidding me.” She shined the light directly in his face, and he lifted a hand to protect his eyesight.