Thrill Ride (Black Knights Inc. #4)(5)
He held steady until his would-be assassin whizzed by, then stepped from behind his cover. In a flash, he had an arm around the young man’s neck and one of his SIGs pressed into a soft kidney.
Instinctively, the guy began to struggle, flailing around like a June bug on a string, but Rock just applied more pressure. Which elicited a squeak. A very unmanly squeak.
Huh?
He didn’t loosen his hold on that skinny neck as he tucked his 9mm into his waistband in order to yank off those ridiculous mirrored sunglasses. The baseball cap went next, and he was astonished to watch a long black ponytail unravel in front of him. Rock spun his captive around and nearly shit his own heart.
“Vanessa? What the hell are you doin’ here?”
***
She’d found him!
Finally, after months of searching, she’d found him! And the sound of his smooth voice, that sweet Cajun drawl that brought to mind tin roofs and front porch swings, stroked her eardrums like a silken glove.
“I’ve come to help you,” she breathed excitedly, barely resisting the urge to throw her arms around his neck, to touch his dark hair—it was shorter than she’d ever seen it, like he’d been haphazardly cutting it himself, which she was sure he had.
Keep it professional, Van. You have to keep this professional…
Because, yes, it was true she had a little thing for Rock. How could she not? He was just so…so…natural, she guessed was the word. None of that bullshit alpha-male mega-ego that so many operators suffered from. Just an unshakable and abiding sense of duty, and a refreshing unpretentiousness that’d attracted her to him from the very beginning. Plus, there was that smooth-as-silk voice…
But he’d made it abundantly clear after she’d sent him all the right signals that he didn’t have room in his life for a girlfriend—much less anything more permanent. Now, if all she wanted was to sweeten the sheets, he was her go-to guy. He’d made that readily apparent at a BBQ one night when he’d smoldered at her and told her trouble—and he’d definitely been trouble with a capital T, even before all of this—could be fun.
But she’d been there. Done that. And though she didn’t have the T-shirt to prove it, what she did have was an empty ring finger with no prospects in sight. And let’s be honest here, at thirty, she was beginning to get a bit antsy about the whole thing. Especially since starting a family of her own had always been one of her most cherished dreams.
So, yessir, since she was too old and too jaded to be screwing around—literally—with the hot bad boy—super hot—keeping things professional was her only alternative, right? Right.
Of course, that was easier said than done. Especially since his tank top exposed the tan contours of his tattooed biceps and accentuated the breadth of his wide shoulders.
Oh, for heaven’s sakes, pull yourself together, Cordero.
And, yes, the ridiculousness of her being here, in the middle of the jungle, arguing with her own libido about the man standing before her when every government agency in America had guys out hunting for him, wasn’t lost on her. Then again, he’d managed to bring out the ridiculousness in her since day one. For being a communications specialist, she always felt inexplicably tongue-tied around him. Of course, the last time they’d partnered on a mission, he’d done the tongue-tying himself…
And there went her libido again. Memories of his tongue down her throat were not helping the professionalism. Even if at the time it had been strictly business.
“You came here alone?” His expression was flinty, his precisely shaped goatee drooping at the corners of his frowning mouth.
“To the Cloud Forest? Yes.” She’d made the four-hour motorcycle ride from the capital city to here all by her little ol’ lonesome. Go, go girl power! “But the others are waiting in San Jose and—”
“Sonofabitch.” He turned and paced a few feet down the trail, cursing in both English and French. Then he swung around and stomped back to her, his hazel eyes glinting even in the deep shadows cast by the forest canopy. “How’d you guys find me?”
It hadn’t been easy; that was for sure. When his Burn and Delete notice came over the wires, he’d disappeared faster than a cry in the wind and had proven to be nearly as elusive ever since.
“We were beginning to think we wouldn’t,” she admitted, letting her eyes run over his face. There were two vertical lines between his dark eyebrows that hadn’t been there the last time she’d seen him. And he’d lost weight. He’d been lean and mean to begin with, but now he was nothing but muscle, bone, and sinew. When you combined all of that with the scruffy hair and faded clothes, a girl couldn’t help but get a little niggle in her belly. Because the man appeared as volatile and feral as the exotic animals inhabiting this jungle. Still…keep it professional, a little voice whispered in her head, to which she responded, I’m trying, damnit! “Boss said you cover your trail better than anyone he’s ever seen.”
Rock grunted, an irritated muscle ticking in his jaw. “I didn’t cover it good enough, obviously. You’re here, aren’t you?”
And, yeah, she’d known he wasn’t going to welcome her with open arms, but this undisguised animosity was a bit of a head-scratcher.
Didn’t he want their help?
“Only because we found that wooden bowl in your bedroom back home. The one displayed above your dresser?” His eyes narrowed further, and she took that to be an affirmative. “After extensive research, we discovered the artist only sells his goods here, at the CASEM store in Santa Elena. And since Boss said you’d never had occasion to do any BKI jobs down this way, that meant you’d traveled here for other reasons. It was a shot in the dark, but it was the only one we had.” And luckily it’d paid off, because here he was. Finally. “From there it was just a small matter of finding an excuse to come to Costa Rica in order to nose around and—”