Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(24)

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Not one of the women who’d shared his bed in the last six months, not to mention the scores—okay, maybe not scores, but certainly more than his fair share—who’d shared his bed in the last ten or so years had inspired the kind of passion that Eve managed to inspire just by walking into the room.

“Billy can’t help himself where I’m concerned,” she finished, smiling down at him sadly and, yeah, so maybe he was king of the *s. Because it wasn’t her fault he’d been young and dumb and unable to see that she’d only been tiptoeing on the wild side, taking a little spin around the block with the bad boy from the wrong side of town before settling on someone more appropriate.

Goddamnit!

“But just so we’re clear,” she continued, holding his gaze, and that was something new. The Eve he’d known years ago was as shy as a church mouse on a Sunday morning. But this new Eve? Well, she was showing a backbone made of pure, forged steel. And, sonofabitch, that just made him want her more. “I cook because it soothes me. I’m not yelling at you for reading that book and telling you this isn’t a…a gosh darned”—now that was the Eve he knew; the one who blushed anytime she tried to curse—“library visit.”

“You’re right,” he told her, meeting her wide eyes unhesitatingly. Eve had always reminded him of a china doll. Milky-white skin, jet-black hair, eyes as clear and deep as sapphires, and a fragility that brought out the Neanderthal in him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take out my frustration on you.”

She blinked like he’d just sprouted a second head from his ear. And, yeah, so he was probably overdue on quite a few of the apologies he owed her.

“Well…I…well…okay, then,” she sputtered and turned to make her way back toward the kitchen. He watched her walk away and gave himself over to the sheer joy of examining the graceful movement of her long, tan legs. That is, until his sister interrupted his pursuit.

“I don’t understand why you have to do that,” she said. When he turned to glance at her, Becky was wearing “the look.” The one that informed him a lecture was coming.

He hoped to head it off. “You heard me apologize, right?”

“I heard you. I’m just not sure I believe you. Why can’t you just forget about it? It was a lifetime ago.”

“Maybe I’m just no good at letting go of grudges,” he admitted. But he knew that was only partially true. Because no matter how hard he’d tried, the fact remained that what he wasn’t good at was letting go of Eve.

“Yeah. And maybe you’re just an *.”

He shrugged then fought a smile because he knew just how to derail his sister from this current line of badgering. Clearing his throat, he said in his best orator’s voice, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view—until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “And that would be from…?”

He picked up the book from his lap and turned it so she could see the cover. “Atticus Finch, baby. A man of inordinately wise words.”

“That’s a really annoying habit you have.”

“Which one? Being an * or quoting classic literature?”

“Both.”

He winked and was rewarded when one corner of her sullen mouth twitched. She could never stay mad at him for very long. That was the thing about Becky. She could blow up quicker than a stick of dynamite, but her anger always burned out just as quickly.

She reached for one of the sandwiches Eve had delivered, just as Boss strolled into the room. Bill went on instant alert. Boss’s face looked like a thundercloud on a good day—thanks, in part, to a bevy of scars—but today? Well, today it looked like an F5 tornado.

A stone of dread settled at the bottom of his stomach, and he figured it wouldn’t be long before his ulcer started acting up again.

“General Fuller confirmed a CIA operation over Monteverde Cloud Forest,” Boss announced. “Says there’s nothing he can do about it. His recommendation is for us to convince Rock to turn himself in.”

Yeah, right.

“Not likely,” Bill snorted. “Even if there was a way to contact him, Rock would rather die in the jungle with a bullet in his brain than rot away in an eight-by-ten.”

“Dying in the jungle with a bullet in his brain is looking more and more likely,” Boss scowled. “Those teams have orders to shoot on sight.”

“Sonofabitch.” Bill shook his head, wondering, again, how it had come to this. Surely Rock wouldn’t—

“Still no word from Vanessa?” Boss asked, breaking into Bill’s thoughts.

“Nope,” he glanced over at the end table and the blank screen of his cell phone. “It appears she still has her phone turned off.”

Boss nodded and ran a big hand back through his hair. Then he turned to survey the room as if it had the answer to the question he asked next. “Any idea how they, the CIA, I mean, found them?”

“If I had to guess,” Bill mused, running a finger under his chin, “I’d say that despite her disguise, and despite all her precautions, somehow Vanessa was followed. And then maybe she got herself tagged while she was in Santa Elena.”