Artful Dodger Page 3

  But the last two thugs had gained on her and one of them caught her ponytail, wrenching her neck and pulling her off balance. Using the momentum to her favor, she came around and used the heel of her hand to smash a blow to his nose, sending him reeling back and hitting the wall, then sliding down.

  She turned, already moving to strike the next assailant while the previous thug was too dazed to rise, only to be stunned by the man in front of her.

  His face, illuminated under a dim light from a doorway, sent shockwaves through her. She couldn’t stop her forward momentum, and she smashed the heel of her palm into his face.

  “Bollocks! It’s me, Anna!”

  For the first time in her professional life, she was caught physically and mentally off guard. She stumbled and fell backwards. Sharp pains stabbed into her butt as she winced and swore, then looked up.

  “Dodger? What are you doing here?”

  The guy against the wall started to rise, and while Dodger was stemming the blood from his nose, he kicked back with the heel of his boot and caught the guy in the temple. He slumped to the side and lay still.

  There was a shout from down the alley. Dodger reached down and grabbed her hand. “Time to go.”

  She couldn’t argue with that, but this was mind-boggling. How the hell did Oliver get into the middle of her freaking business? At this point, getting away was the most important thing and the questions would have to wait. “This way,” she said as she navigated the path that would lead her back to her apartment.

  Sirens blared in the distance, and her heart pounded as she led him down several alleys before they got to her home base.

  She froze and her stomach squeezed. More thugs milling around where she lived. Yeah, not safe. Also, not good.

  She swore softly, and Dodger whispered, “What’s going on?”

  “I wish I knew,” she hissed, backtracking, her nerves pure titanium alloy. “I have a contingency plan.” She moved away from her home base, her feet protesting, taking back alleys until she got to her secondary location. She checked the front of the building from the alley across the street. Everything looked quiet. There was no one out front or in the vicinity.

  She moved out of the shadows and started toward the apartment complex. Once they reached the front door, Anna entered with Dodger in tow. She moved up the staircase on the balls of her feet, her butt protesting every step of the way. Something was embedded in her skin and it hurt like hell.

  When she got to the right apartment, she unlocked the door and slipped inside. Closing the door softly behind him, Dodger bumped into her in the dark.

  “Sorry, luv,” he said.

  For some reason that endearment set her off. She flipped on the light switch and rounded on him. “What are you freaking doing here?” she demanded, keeping her voice low and fierce.

  He narrowed his eyes. There was blood on his upper lip and smeared on his right cheekbone and temple.

  Anna stepped back. Wow. That must be his warrior face. It. Was. Scary.

  “Bathroom,” he bit out.

  She sighed. Suddenly, her attraction to Dodger wasn’t almost more than she could bear—it was way more than she could bear. “Down the hall to the right.”

  She heard the water come on, and all of a sudden, she felt every ache and pain. Damn, her butt hurt.

  Dodger splashed water on his face, his nose still throbbing. Luckily, it wasn’t broken. That woman was a bloody menace. He would be surprised if he didn’t end up with double black eyes. Yeah, the guys would have a field day with this one.

  Right. The guys. In saving Anna and getting her safe, he’d totally forgotten. He’d been gone for a couple of hours. They would be wondering where the hell he was. He was part of an active op. But it was clear Anna was in trouble. He couldn’t leave her alone. He owed it to Max.

  He came out of the bathroom and saw her limping into the bedroom. He followed, instantly concerned.

  “Why are you limping? Are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know. My…butt is killing me.”

  He didn’t think. He simply reacted. He scooped her up. Without hesitation, her arms went around his neck, and as carefully as possible, he held her. The incredible sensation of her melting into him did him in. It was the softest moment of his life. Every curve she had found a place on his body and molded itself to him.

  “I think I got something in my butt, maybe glass,” she said, real soft, her voice little more than a sigh against the side of his neck, her breath blowing along the edge of his ear.

  Sex.

  It was the only thought he had for a couple of endless seconds, during which he didn’t move, just stood there like a gobsmacked idiot and thought sex. Nothing specific, just sex, the whole gorgeous, brilliant thing.

  “I’m in so much trouble.”

  Yeah, he was pretty sure she was.

  And he had nothing for brains. He was running on empty, which was just about the stupidest damn thing that had ever happened to him—getting gobsmacked by Mad Max’s sister, a woman he shouldn’t be anywhere near, let alone touching or wanting.

  He entered the bedroom, again someplace he shouldn’t be. He was making a habit of being where he shouldn’t be tonight. If he didn’t get back to HQ soon, he was going to be in deep shite.

  But all that went out of his head when she made a soft sound of distress. “I think I better take a look.”

  “I think you better.” Her voice was still soft, still near his ear, but he had at last strung two thoughts together. He was going to call that a win.

  He set her on her stomach on the bed. Then he looked down at her skirt. He could see small cuts in the leather. There was no way in hell he was getting that tight material off her. Sliding it down would be…painful. He had to take a breath because for a minute there, he couldn’t quite breathe. Sliding it up would cause even more pain.

  “Uh, Anna, I’m going to have to cut the leather off you. Are you all right with that?”

  “Yes. I need to get this taken care of, then we need to talk.”

  “You have a first aid kit?”

  “In the bathroom.”

  “Scissors?”

  “No. But there’s a knife in the inside top of my left boot. Be careful. It’s razor sharp.”

  “I know how to handle a knife, Anna,” he said, his voice hard. “What I don’t know is why you’re carrying one in your boot.” This stepped over way too many boundaries. He could hear the conversation between him and Max. What did you do tonight? And his reply, Oh, I cut your baby sister’s leather skirt off her body and pulled glass out of her rocking ass.

  “I’ll explain everything,” she groused, then seconds later asked, “Dodger?” Anna looked at him over her shoulder. “Come on. We don’t have all night. This situation could be going bad ten ways from Sunday. I need to get ahead of it. My job and my life could depend on it.”

  He headed for the bathroom. He was a hardened, tough-as-hell former SBS and currently a bloody Navy SEAL. He could do this. Grabbing the first aid kit, he went back into the bedroom.

  He set it on the bed. Taking a fortifying breath, he reached between her legs trying to ignore the ridiculously soft skin of her inner thighs sliding along his hand through the fishnet. Think of this as an op, he told himself. Operation Fishnet. He was going to go insane. He delved into her boot, found the handle of the knife, and pulled it out.

  He set his hand at the small of her back and slipped the knife beneath the hem of the skirt. “Don’t move,” he said. He used the tip of the knife in the center of the two taut globes of her butt to cut the leather, each slice revealing more of her creamy skin, fishnet, and…no underwear.

  Damn, he was sweating. That was a first-class arse.

  Wait, no. She was. It was a thong, nothing but a shiny black ribbon around her waist with a heartbreaking red bow, the ribbon trailing between her two gorgeous mounds. He was glad he couldn’t see the front of her. He might go to his knees and beg.

  He did go to his
knees, but he didn’t beg…almost. It was touch and go.

  “I’m getting the glass out.”

  “About time,” she muttered. “I hope you’re getting a good show.”

  “I’m working the problem, Anna,” he said in his most calm, most professional voice.

  He popped open the first aid kit and grabbed for tweezers. There were several shards embedded in her skin. Some had cut the fishnet, but the tough leather had saved her from most of the damage.

  He carefully removed each piece. Then leaned down closer.

  “What are you doing?” Her voice had gone airy. “I can feel you breathing on me.”

  He clenched his jaw. “I’m checking for any slivers. Almost done.”

  “Hurry up.”

  He looked closely but couldn’t see anything. “How does it feel?”

  “Stinging is all I can feel right now.”

  “I’m going to run my hand over it to make sure there’s nothing else.

  “Okay, get it done.” This time it sounded like she was clenching her jaw.

  He smoothed his palm over her. “You feeling anything?”

  “Plenty,” she said. “But there’s no more glass.”

  He breathed a sigh, then cleaned the area with disinfectant, dabbed on antibiotic cream, and pressed on several Band-Aids.

  He rose and backed out of the room. “I’ll wait outside until you change.”

  He closed the door and went to the window to look out at the front of the building, his shoulders tight. There was nothing out there. No movement. Just cars passing. He found bottled water in the fridge and drained the contents of one. The backs of his fingers touched his nose and pain rushed up, down, and along the ridge into his eye sockets, forehead, and his nostrils. He winced.

  He heard the patter of bare feet on the hardwood, and Anna came into the kitchen. She took one look at his nose and sighed hard. “I’m sorry about hitting you.” She slipped by him and grabbed some water, too. She took several long gulps. “Is it broken?”

  “No. Luckily. But I’m going to have black eyes, I think. I’ll look like a raccoon.”

  A small smile curled her lips. “You could never look like a raccoon, Oliver.” She tilted her head. “Maybe one of those scary Celtic Scots.”

  He wasn’t going to ask what that meant.

  “You just have to tell your teammates you got beat up by a girl.”

  He went to make a haha expression, but it hurt too much. “So, Anna. What the hell is going on?”

  She sobered and leaned against the wall, closing the fridge. “I’m not a National Geographic photojournalist.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No. I’m a CIA officer and you just crashed my classified op.”

  “Well fuck,” Dodger said succinctly.

  3

  Everything was red, blood-soaked. No matter how much he wiped at the blood on his hands, more accumulated. Surprisingly there was nothing but calm. It was finally over. He’d done what he had to do. It was his only option. He’d been pushed into a corner where there was no escape. Just action. Only action.

  “2-Stroke!”

  He opened his eyes to find Fast Lane bending over him, shaking him awake.

  “LT?” 2-Stroke said, his voice raspy, his heart pounding.

  “Where is Dodger?”

  “What? He’s not back?”

  “No.”

  2-Stroke sat up and found the team around his rack, their expressions concerned. “We split up. I stopped at a store before we headed back. As far as I know, he came straight to HQ. He should have been here before I got back. I just assumed he was here. I hit the rack. Jet lag.”

  The guys shifted and 2-Stroke felt nothing but the residual memory that stemmed from his dream. He should have stuck with Dodger. If anything happened to him, it would be on 2-Stroke, not Fast Lane. Never leave your swim buddy. A sick feeling formed in the pit of his stomach. His need for privacy had somehow put this whole op in jeopardy.

  Damn, just what Fast Lane needed when his leadership was in question.

  “I don’t know what happened to him. That’s on me.”

  Fast Lane squeezed his shoulder and shook his head. “Relax. We all need to take a breath. If there’s anything I know about Dodger, he can take care of himself, but that doesn’t mean I’m not concerned.” He looked around the room. “Any of you heard anything from him?”

  There was a unanimous shaking of heads.

  “Okay, how about anyone know anything personal about why he would have not come back?”

  Again, with the head shakes.

  “Okay, Pitbull and Dragon, head out and look around. The rest of us will keep this mum for now.”

  “Dodger would never go off the rails during an op unless he was incapacitated,” Saint said. “He’s a professional.”

  “You think someone snatched him?” Hemingway asked, looking out the window to the quiet square below.

  “It’s possible.”

  “LT. I want to go with Pitbull and Dragon.” 2-Stroke got up and pulled on some black tactical pants and an olive green T-Shirt, then slipped on socks and a pair of black boots. He ran his hands through his hair. The feel of a hand on his shoulder made him look up.

  “Negative. I need you with me.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Don’t beat yourself up, man,” Pitbull said. “Let’s put our energy toward finding him.”

  2-Stroke rose and nodded curtly.

  “Whatever the reason, it’s sound. Dodger wouldn’t do this unless it was necessary.” 2-Stroke was aware of the penalties for being UA, and length of absence sure was one of the criteria, but it wasn’t a blanket policy, which was in Dodger’s favor. They took each Unauthorized Absence infraction on a case by case basis. His main worry wasn’t Dodger’s punishment, but whether he needed help in the field.

  “Dodger didn’t go UA. We’re going to find out what is going on, quietly,” LT said.

  They headed toward the ready room. It was dark inside with all the techs and their two liaisons sleeping.

  “You know how to search for satellite footage and check police records?”

  2-Stroke smiled. “Yes.”

  “Get to it and make sure there’s no footprint.”

  2-Stroke sat down and accessed what he needed, then looked for the time he went into the art store. He found the footage, copied it to his phone, and cleared out the history, then accessed police reports, copied the relevant documents to his phone, and again erased his hack.

  “We’re going for a drink,” LT said. “Gather up the team and meet me out front.”

  2-Stroke nodded, fetched the guys, and they assembled out front. Together they walked to a local bar and took a back table, where 2-Stroke pulled up the footage.

  “This is a satellite image just at dusk,” he said solemnly.

  Everyone watched the clip. Dodger started for HQ, but before he took less than a dozen steps, he stopped and turned, then changed direction.

  “He’s headed across the square. We lose the satellite before we can see where he goes. But I believe after viewing this that he was following this woman.” 2-Stroke tapped a figure yards from Dodger. “The angle is bad to see her face, but the way she’s dressed indicates she’s most likely a hooker, and the nearest hotel is Evzen straight across the square.”

  The only relevant police report is that there was an altercation in this alley.” He pulled up another satellite stream, but the darkness made it difficult to see.

  “What was clear was that there was fighting.” Then the woman from the square stepped into the light only briefly before she disappeared into the darkness, and the clip ended. “There was no one there when the police arrived, although people from the adjacent building said they heard sounds of a struggle.”

  “Was Dodger there?”

  “Not clear. But if he was following her, it’s possible.”

  “Why is he following and protecting some hooker?” Dragon asked, then added, “U
nless he knows her.”

  “But if that’s the case, why hasn’t he called in?”

  “Something else went wrong?” Saint said.

  “The woman.” Mad Max leaned forward, peering at the screen, his expression contemplative. “She…looks familiar, but I can’t place her. Whoever she is, she’s the reason Dodger went UA.”

  “Bollocks, Anna, I don’t even know where to begin.” He released a weary sigh and closed his eyes.

  A terrible ragged sigh left her. “I can only answer questions that don’t have to do with my current op.”

  “Was it a success at least?” Christ. Her current op? Every perception of Anna had been wrong, except maybe that river of steel that ran through her and her Lara Croft vibe. Even now as he looked at her dressed in a pair of almost see-through, wide-legged gauzy pants and the molded white lace tank top, she looked ready for action, as if she could kick butt in her bare feet.

  “Yes, it was. But, Dodger, my cover is blown.” Her voice wobbled. It was the first crack in her tough girl wall since he’d seen her sexy sidling hips moving across the square. “There were people at my cover’s apartment.” Her hands clenched in her lap. “They know who I am, and I don’t know how that’s possible.” She rubbed the back of her neck, frustration on her face. “I can’t reach my handler either. No answer and no call back. It’s odd.”

  “Well, without knowing what your current op is about…” He held up his hands to stem her protest that she couldn’t tell him. “…my hands are tied for speculation.” He paced back to the window, looking out again. “Does Max know?”

  She followed him in and sat gingerly on the sofa, pulling her legs under her and looking cool and professional again. It reminded him how incredible her ass had been, not something he would likely forget, not in his lifetime.

  “No. I never told anyone. I was recruited straight out of college, and the CIA built my cover at National Geographic.”

  “So, rescuing Max in Paraguay?”