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Nathan had twirled his wrench just as Noah now twirled it. And chewed gum when he worked in the garage.
She shuddered and pressed her hands to her stomach. That man in there was not her husband, because her husband would have never stayed away from her for six years. He would not have left her alone and grieving for him. He couldn’t have.
Noah was an agent, he was just similar to Nathan sometimes, she told herself. Perhaps had the same training. So what was he doing in Alpine?
The militia. The Black Collar Militia was rumored to have been behind the deaths in the park lately. Illegals who were hunted down. There had been murmurs about it for years. It had to be that or drugs. And there were no drugs in her garage, she made sure of it.
She rubbed her hands together before wiping them over her face, realizing tears still tracked her flesh. She went to the kitchen drawer to get a dishtowel to wash her face. She pulled the top one free and noticed the odd arrangement, the slight hump in the middle. Drawing them aside, she found the gun.
Glock. She knew the type, the model. It was the same kind her husband had preferred. It was kept in the same place. What? Was there a damned class for where warriors hid their weapons?
Nathan had never realized that she knew exactly where his guns were hidden through the two years they were married. She hadn’t bothered them, had never mentioned them, but she had always known how to find them.
She was aware of every place in the house where Nathan had a weapon hidden while they were married. And every place in the apartment. And this had been one of those places.
She pushed the drawer back slowly, still gripping the dishtowel as she moved to the sink and dampened it beneath the cold water.
She wasn’t going to go searching the apartment. Not yet. She could feel the panic rising inside her now, slowly, insidiously. She had to catch her breath first.
Who was the man bleeding to death in the bedroom? Had he known Nathan? Had he researched her? Was that why he had come to her garage, why he had invaded her life?
Was she a part of it, somehow? Her garage?
She put the towel over her face and fought back the need to run, to hide. She had only hidden once in her life, those first three years of hell when nightmares and pain had seared every inch of her soul. When they had eased enough for her to function, she had come out of her bed, and had fought to rejoin the living.
For what? So another man, another adrenaline junkie, could walk into her life and destroy it?
The sound of vehicles pulling in behind the garage had her head jerking up. She was on her way to the bedroom when Nik came out of the room, caught her arm and dragged her back into the living room.
“Stay!” he mouthed, his rugged face tight, his body tense as he went to the door and cracked it open.
Sabella stood back and watched the men that came in. They stopped daily for gas. She didn’t know their names, but they looked a hell of a lot different with their flat, hard gazes.
There were two strangers, and bringing up the rear were Ian Richards and his wife Kira. She almost laughed. Hysteria almost bloomed inside her as she met Kira’s compassionate and knowing gaze. Ian Richards was involved in this, and so was his wife. And Sabella wanted to know why.
It wasn’t as bad this time. Noah gripped the straps Nik had tied to the posts at the headboard, gritted his teeth, and endured the stitches as Micah sewed his flesh together. He could feel his blood burning in his veins, churning through him and raging into his cock.
Fucking whore’s dust. Fucking Diego Fuentes. The bastard was still alive and grinning, protected by Homeland Security, as Noah lay in his own sweat and blood and fought to hold on to his sanity.
The doctors had warned him that the effects of the drug his body had been filled with for so long might never be totally gone. There were still traces of it. Especially after a hard surge of adrenaline as there had been last night. Fever only made it worse. The cuts in his body had been deeper than he had wanted to admit to, and stopping the flow of blood had been an on again, off again thing.
He had to still the surging lust beating in his brain somehow. He didn’t want Sabella to see him like this. Like an animal, intent on nothing but sex. Hard. Fast. Driving sex. He’d used the last of the witches’ brew of antibiotics, painkillers, and lust supressors that the Navy doctors had put together for him the night before. It hadn’t helped.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he bit out to the Israeli Mossad agent, or former agent. Dead men. They were all fucking dead men now.
“Jordan called in the order.” Micah kept his voice low. “We came in Travis’s car. The garage isn’t being watched. Travis had been watching for any eyes. You didn’t pick up notice until that fight in the bar last night. Did you inject yourself when this happened?”
Noah nodded. “Last of it last night. It didn’t do much.”
“You’ll need a larger dose. Ian should have more here soon. The new batch was flown in last night.”
“You’ll be noticed leaving,” Noah bit out. “I can’t trust all my mechanics. Sabella’s going to have questions now.”
“Rory has eyes like a hawk. Jordan called him first thing. He’s watching everyone, keeping the boy inside. And you were advised to inform Ms. Malone of the status of this operation to begin with. She was given clearance for partial information, it’s because of your stubbornness that she’ll be pissed off now. You can deal with it. Now stop worrying. You sound like my mother.”
“Fuck you.”
“Wrong sex, big boy,” he grunted. “I’ve a mind for a little satin flesh, not your tough hide.”
