Cowboy, Undercover Read online

  Between Drew Ross, who Spinks had singing like an operatic canary, and all the task force’s angles of investigation pointing to Martin as being The Wolf, they’d had no physical proof until now. Gil clicked away with the camera and uploaded a sample batch to Spinks with a succinct, Merry fucking Christmas as the subject line.

  Gil smiled to himself. He could count the time he had left undercover in days, maybe even hours. They would get these bastards. They would lock them up, throw away the key and if Gil were lucky, if Gil played his cards right and the stars aligned, he’d have five minutes alone with the asshole who’d shot Isaac.

  Tessa stared out of her second story window. The moon was high, and her spirit, her resolve, her hope, was at an all-time low. Like Jack, she’d been locked in her suite. From her vantage point on the semicircular balcony, she’d seen the men return from the mine. Even if size weren’t a factor, from that distance, she could have singled Gil out from the confident, fluid way he carried himself.

  A flood of emotions washed through her. Relief, shock, guilt. A part of her hadn’t really believed that she would see Gil alive again, not after Bradley had found out the truth about him. About them.

  Maybe the fact that he knew that Spinks and the rest of the task force were keeping close tabs on them had kept Bradley from doing anything too stupid. Killing an officer of the law in cold blood wasn’t Bradley’s style.

  What about Lang and Rivera?

  No. That was a bust gone bad. That wasn’t the same as Bradley directly ordering someone’s execution.

  She clutched at the railing, wanting to call out to Gil, but she didn’t dare. Without her phone, she had no way to warn him of the impending danger.

  She considered sliding down the drainpipe near her balcony once it got dark, but the night patrols around the house were frequent, and she hadn’t maintained the upper body strength she’d gained while in the Army. No way could she climb back up.

  As much as a part of her couldn’t believe Bradley would cause any physical harm to their son, she also didn’t want to be caught outside her room and find out she was mistaken.

  A key worked in the lock of the bedroom door, and Bradley entered, careful to lock the door behind him.

  Bradley had said he wanted her, but he sure as hell didn’t trust her.

  Cold, spindly fingers of dread gripped her stomach and refused to let go. “How’s Jack?”

  “He’s fine,” Bradley said, more of a blow off than an actual accounting of her son’s mental and physical wellbeing. Had he even checked on him?

  “I swear to you, if you—”

  He closed the gap between them, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking her head back. Fire seared her scalp. “You’re in no position to threaten me, wife. Do as I say, and no harm will come to the boy.”

  The boy. Dread’s grip tightened and squeezed bile up the back of her throat. He said ‘the boy’ as if Jack didn’t even belong to him. That he was nothing more than a pawn in the world’s most deadly game of chess.

  If Bradley really wanted her back, did he think this was how to do it? “I’m not your wife.”

  Bradley loosened his grip and brushed her hair behind her ear. A smile toyed with his mouth. “Just because a judge has signed some papers doesn’t mean you aren’t mine.”

  He leaned in, pressed a kiss at the corner of her jaw and nibbled at her ear. The muscles in her legs twitched, her body wanting her to flee but her brain making her stay. In her ear, he whispered, “To be clear, fucking another man, doesn’t make you his.”

  He took a half-step back. “Not much longer and we’ll be together, and this will all be behind us.”

  He had to be batshit crazy to think that she would ever willingly be with him again, but that wasn’t what scared her the most. When she looked into his eyes, what frightened her the most was that he wasn’t crazy. She didn’t even think he was delusional. No, what she saw was the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and stopped at nothing to get it.

  “How much longer?”

  If she could get an idea of when the shipment was going out, maybe there was some way she could get the word out to Spinks. The only outside phone line was in Bradley’s office, and she didn’t think she should chance going in there again, even if she had the opportunity. She and Jack would not voluntarily go anywhere with Bradley. No. Fucking. Way.

  Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. “Open for me.” His hands tightened in her hair again, and pain zipped across her scalp. It wasn’t a request.

  She opened her mouth, and his tongue darted in, invading, taking. The urge to fight back, to kick and scream and punch and bite and scratch and claw almost overwhelmed her, but she had to keep her composure. For Jack if not for herself.

  If she played the part, would he start to trust her? She kissed Bradley back, deepening the kiss and letting loose a fake little moan in the back of her throat that she almost choked on.

  Bradley pulled back, leaving the taste of whiskey in her mouth. She didn’t think she would ever be able to drink alcohol again. “That’s my girl.” He reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat and pulled out her phone and held it out to her.

  She hesitated, her hand partially outstretched, and he said, “It’s not going to bite.”

  She took it, immediately suspicious. “Why are you giving this back to me?”

  “I had it cloned.”

  “It’s encrypted.”

  “New phone. Old style encryption. Might as well not even have it.”

  The phone that had been a lifeline was now an anchor. She couldn’t text Gil without Bradley knowing about it.

  He went on to explain that he would be able to see every text, email, phone call, web search, as well as her GPS location. If she pressed any button on the phone, he’d know about it.

  The way their phones were connected, anything she typed to Gil, Spinks would see as well. She had to find a way to get word to Gil that Bradley was on to them, but how?

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “We’re going to use it against your little friends. I’ll let you know when the time comes. For now, know that I’m watching, listening. Don’t screw it up. This is our chance to be happy again.”

  At one in the morning, Gil lay fully clothed on top of the covers on his bed. The moon shone through the open blinds. All was quiet, except for Wu’s steady snore coming from the room next door.

  He’d had a brief text stream with Spinks after getting back to the house, a text stream that Tessa would have seen. A text stream that she didn’t comment on.

  Something was off.

  Since they’d been back from the mine, he hadn’t been able to relax, even after going through magazine after magazine on the range behind their apartment until Burton had come around and told him to lay off.

  Gil palmed his phone from his nightstand, thumbed to his last text from her and stared at the screen. Tessa’s message stared back at him. I am safe. Don’t worry about me.

  Those words should have put his mind at rest, but they didn’t. Where the hell was her update? Had she been able to get in the safe or not?

  His thumbs hovered over the screen, debating. He wanted to say he missed her. That he wanted to see her, but Spinks would get the text notification. Not that there was anything to hide anymore as far as his and Tessa’s relationship went, since he’d notified Spinks he’d been in the helo with Tessa. Though he doubted Spinks wanted to be a witness to any of it.

  He also didn’t want to alarm Spinks by asking if she was okay again. Spinks would want to know if there was a problem. Gil didn’t know there was a reason for concern and trying to explain to his boss how his skin felt too small, and his gut felt like some overeager Boy Scout was using his intestines to practice for a knot tying badge, didn’t sound detached and professional.

  His thumbs flew over the tiny keyboard, as he got to the point. Success? His thumb hovered over the send butto
n. He erased it. Typed it back in. Erased it again.

  What was he missing? I am safe. Don’t worry about me.

  The text didn’t sound like her. She wasn’t like other women he’d texted before. She used the shortest texts to get to the point. She would have said safe. Not I’m safe and certainly not I am safe. And no worries would have sounded more like her. Not Don’t worry. And what was up with the apostrophe? She never used them with contractions, she’d once told him it was too much trouble to bother putting them in.

  If her phone didn’t automatically capitalize the first word in a sentence, it would be lower case as well. That was the type of woman she was. She didn’t stand on ceremony or waste her time on things that weren’t important.

  One thing he knew for sure, he wasn’t getting any sleep until he found out what was up.

  What’s up? You want her in your arms. Want to feel the warmth of her skin, hear her gentle sigh as she leans in against you before you roll her beneath—

  That wasn’t helping.

  Gil needed to know Tessa was safe. He sat up and scrubbed a hand over his jaw, not used to feeling stubble instead of his beard. Since when had his old undercover persona felt more natural?

  Into his phone, he typed in: meet me at the barn. Yeah, that wouldn’t sound like a booty call to Spinks when it alerted his phone in the wee hours of the morning.

  Gil erased the message and dropped the phone into the side pocket of his tactical pants. He hadn’t changed since they’d returned from the mine. He needed a shower, a change of clothes.

  Down boy. He laughed to himself. It didn’t matter that his clothes were dirty, or that he smelled. This was not a booty call. He adjusted himself before reaching for the doorknob.

  Gil slipped out and descended the apartment stairs and tried not to think about how long it had been since he’d kissed her. Really kissed her. The barn hadn’t counted. Somehow that had felt more like a goodbye, even though he knew it wasn’t. It was a promise of later.

  He waited in the shadows until one of the guards, Price, he thought it was, turned the corner on his patrol of the grounds. As he hurried over to her balcony, he couldn’t wait to touch her again, to feel her heat against him. His mind drifted to the last time they’d been together.

  He’d never be able to smell hay again and not think about smooth skin, sultry sex, and sweet surrender.

  Taking the drain pipe in his hands, he hauled himself hand over hand up the pipe, the brick mostly smooth, not giving him much purchase with his booted feet.

  He grunted, and his breathing became more labored as his triceps, biceps, and deltoids burned. Though mostly healed, his shoulder ached where the bullet had blasted through. Reaching over, he hoisted himself over the top rail of Tessa’s balcony and dropped down on the other side with little sound, absorbing the hard landing with his knees.

  The balcony door stood ajar, allowing the breeze and moonlight in. Tessa’s form was clearly visible, as she lay on her side, her back to him. She hadn’t stirred when he’d landed on her balcony. He thought she was asleep, but as he pushed open the door, he saw her shoulders shake and the unmistakable hitch in her breath as she wept.

  “Awh, baby,” he crooned, his voice low, soothing.

  She didn’t startle—maybe she’d heard him after all—but she didn’t turn to him either. Reaching up, she swiped at her cheek, curling her hand back under her chin.

  The mattress dipped under his weight as he settled behind her on top of the covers. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her up against him. She didn’t pull away, in fact, she wormed her way back against him as if the molecule of air that separated them was too much.

  Wearing nothing but her panties and a long T-shirt, her skin was cold to the touch. He rubbed his hand up and down her arm to warm her. “Why are you upset?”

  She took a shuddering breath, and then another. He’d half expected the usual “nothing,” or “I’m fine” or some other line women had always fed him when something was wrong and they didn’t want to talk about it.

  Instead, Tessa blew out a shallow breath and said, “We’re fucked.”

  Those words should have filled him with alarm, but despite everything, her choice of words made him chuckle—though he knew there was nothing funny. Tessa Sterling wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever been with, and that was one of the many things he loved about her.

  He pressed a hand to her shoulder until she wiped her cheeks and turned to face him. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes, those big, brown, beautiful eyes so vulnerable, so broken.

  Swallowing hard, he clamped down on the emotion that threatened to crush him. He cupped Tessa’s cheeks and kissed her forehead. “Look at me,” he said as he pulled back to see her better.

  She did. He saw fear and hope, helplessness and determination swimming, swirling, simmering in her eyes. “I love you.”

  Gil rolled out his profession of love like it was no big deal. A given it seemed that her mind couldn’t quite compute. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Together. Got me?”

  She nodded, a hiccup escaping. She looked like she wanted to believe but didn’t dare.

  Not completely.

  Sitting up, he rearranged the bed pillows behind his back and tugged her up with him. He linked their fingers and kissed the back of her hand. “Tell me everything.”

  They sat at the head of her bed, fingers intertwined over his stomach as Tessa curled against him. There was so much to tell him. A part of her feared he’d break down her door and tear Bradley limb from limb.

  The scariest thing?

  She wanted him to.

  They heard footsteps down the hall. Tessa stiffened. Gil dropped a foot to the floor, but whoever it was kept going.

  Gil spoke into Tessa’s ear. “The door locked?”

  She huffed out a whisper-thin laugh. “Yes, it’s locked. As in Bradley locked me in.”

  Sitting up straighter, Gil said, “What the hell does that mean?”

  She distanced herself from Gil as if that would help her distance herself from the whole situation. Stupid, but that didn’t change the way she felt. She settled into the middle of the bed, cross-legged and facing him. She tucked her shirt down around her. “Don’t get mad.”

  His expression went from concern to neutral. A subtle, gentle shift. One that might come from a well-engineered, high-end luxury car. If you didn’t feel it happening, you never would have known something had changed.

  Despite her jumbled thoughts, the fact that he didn’t make any promises, wasn’t lost on her.

  “Start with why Martin locked you in your room.” In his voice was the detachment she expected from a true professional, but his hand fisted in his lap. If he ever got the chance to be alone in a room with Bradley, she couldn’t be confident she’d recognize her ex when Gil finished with him.

  She told Gil everything. About Bradley catching her in the office, about their compromised phones, about Bradley coercing her into being his mole in the task force to feed them false information, to threatening to take Jack away from her forever.

  It all seemed unreal. A couple of months ago Tessa’s biggest worries were making sure Jack finished his homework on time, and what she was cooking for dinner. Full stop.

  Then Gil came into her life, and she’d been concerned about protecting her son from getting attached and potentially hurt. But now all that seemed insignificant compared to trying to survive the next few days.

  It was a lot to take in and wrap her mind around. Gil stood and stared out the balcony door in the shadow of the curtain, his hands on his hips as he absorbed the new information.

  Finally, he pushed the chair from the corner of the room and moved it next to the bed and sat, his legs spread, his forearms draped over his knees. “Our number one priority is Jack’s safety. Everything else—catching Martin, stopping the arms shipment, nailing the buyers—none of that matters if Jack gets hurt.”

  If a part of her hadn’t already been fa
lling in love with Gil, that statement right there would have done it. Here was a man committed to her, and perhaps more importantly, to her son. Gil wouldn’t get an argument from her. “Agreed.”

  “As much as I want to storm down Jack’s door, the chances of him getting hurt in even the most well-planned rescue aren’t negligent.”

  Aren’t negligent. Understatement. Like saying Vietnam was a scuffle.

  Gil continued, “Do you think Martin is capable of physically hurting Jack?”

  It was a question she didn’t know the answer to. A chill settled under her skin, raising goosebumps on her flesh. Tessa shifted, bringing her knees to her chest and draping the shirt over the top of them. When she didn’t respond, Gil pressed. “What does your gut say?”

  Her gut. Yeah, it wasn’t like her gut hadn’t ever led her astray. She trusted it less than mayonnaise left out in the sun at a Memorial Day picnic. Bradley wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t a moral man, and by most people’s standards, he was a dangerous man. Men had died because of Bradley. No question. But killing his own flesh and blood?

  That went beyond brutal.

  Beyond depraved.

  “No.” She glanced up and met Gil’s eyes and said it louder, as the word sunk in. “No. But kidnapping him? Squirreling him away to a dark corner of the world where I would never find him again? Yeah, I wouldn’t put that past him.”

  “Then I think for now, as scared as he must be, he’s safest in his room. Martin isn’t going anywhere until this deal is done and the shipment is on its way to the buyer. The best way to keep Jack safe is to stop Martin.”

  “How are we going to do that when we can’t coordinate our efforts with the task force? We can’t even communicate with Spinks without Bradley knowing, and with Bradley reading our texts, anything Spinks relays to us could possibly put the task force in grave danger.”

  “I’m hoping for now our communication silence will alert them that something isn’t right. I can get the word out we’ve been compromised, but we’ll be in the dark until we can find another way to contact them. We’ll have to do what we can and trust the task force to do what they do best, and that’s flushing these bastards out until they’re easy targets to shoot down.”