Mine To Protect (Mine #6)(17)
She locked her arms around him. “Where are we heading?”
“I made a deal with you, didn’t I? You want to find your friend Michelle, and since we both know she was last seen in Vegas…Sin City, here we come.”
“But that’s like…twenty hours away.” They were not riding the motorcycle that whole way, were they? They’d be frozen long before they made it.
“Don’t worry. I have a friend who I can call to help us out.”
And the motorcycle zoomed out of that parking lot. A dead man’s bike. She held Victor even tighter as the motorcycle’s engine vibrated, shaking her whole body. The wind whipped against her, chilling her, but because she was so close to Victor, his warmth seeped into her. He took the brunt of the cold.
He was protecting her, again.
Victor Monroe.
The special agent she was starting to trust…
And a man she desperately needed.
***
Russell gave a low whistle when he walked into the motel room and saw the body on the floor. “Guess he learned that Vic doesn’t play around.”
Lauren knelt near the body and put her hands on the man’s throat. Russell thought it was pretty obvious that the guy was dead, but, hey if the new girl wanted to check…
She looked up at him.
He raised his brows. “Better get some gloves on,” he advised. “You don’t want to contaminate the scene.” His gaze slid around the room. The glass in the window was broken. Some of the glass had rained down on the bed. A very rumpled bed.
Vic, I sure as hell hope you know what you’re doing.
When he looked back at Lauren, her gaze was on the bed, too. And she was blushing.
New girl. He almost smiled.
“It’s a good thing Agent Monroe was awake when the attack occurred,” Lauren said, clearing her throat. “Otherwise…”
“Otherwise Zoe Peters would be dead.” Victor had always been a lucky bastard. “And he might be dead right along with her.”
Instead…a mystery man lay on the floor. A guy who should’ve been able to get the drop in the middle of the night, but he hadn’t. Because the hitman had made the mistake of going up against Victor.
“They’re…involved, aren’t they?” Lauren asked carefully.
Russell sighed. “Look, Lauren, just because you share a room with an asset…that doesn’t mean you’re f*cking her.”
She flinched. She really was going to have to leave that prudishness at the door if she wanted to make it as an agent.
“Is he…though? Fucking her?”
Russell wasn’t about to touch that one. “Victor Monroe has a job to do. He’ll do that job.”
“Protecting Zoe…” She nodded.
That wasn’t exactly the job. But Lauren wasn’t on a higher clearance level, so Russell didn’t answer her. He just paced closer to the body. His eyes narrowed. That guy…he looked familiar to him.
I’ve seen that face before…
He’d been involved with the Luther Bates investigation on and off for years. And he knew this guy—you’re connected to Luther.
But…how?
Just where did this hit man fit into the mix?
***
Zoe and Victor took shelter at another small motel, one close to the airport. They stayed on the road for just over an hour, going far enough, fast enough, that Victor was sure no one was on their trail.
His fingers felt f*cking numb by the time they walked into their little room—a room that was a damn sight nicer than the last place. He took off his coat, wincing a bit when his new wound protested the move.
“While you’re taking things off, ditch your shirt, too,” Zoe ordered.
He smiled at her. “Baby, I love that you’re in the mood after everything’s that happened—”
She growled at him and grabbed his hand. “Stop thinking you’re God’s gift and let me look at that wound, okay?”
“I told you, it’s nothing.”
“And I’m telling you…I’m looking at that wound.” She dragged him toward the little bathroom. He let her because, yeah, he probably needed to clean the graze. The last thing he wanted was some kind of infection setting in.
That ride on the bike had been colder than he anticipated. Was it December already? Hell. Time just kept pushing right past for him. The days were a blur of work. Missions that never ended. Deaths and murders and betrayals.
“You don’t have to play the ice man with me.” She was very slowly—and carefully—lifting up his shirt. The sleeve pulled on the wound, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t want Zoe to think she was hurting him. “You killed a man tonight. I know…I know that has to make you feel…” But she broke off, biting her lip.
“How does it make me feel?” How was it supposed to make him feel?
She put his shirt down on the sink and turned on the faucet. In moments, she had a cloth covered in warm water and soap. She slid the cloth against his skin. Once more, she was very, very careful. His head cocked as he stared down at her. When was the last time someone had patched him up?
Other than, of course, an ER doctor. “I’ve had so much f*cking worse, baby. I’m all right.”
“You think I don’t see the scars?” And the fingers of her left hand rose to trace over one of the thick, long scars that slid over his abdomen. “You’ve had too many wounds, Victor. You’ve come too close to death.”