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“You know, she took me away from a rather important day that I had planned,” Micah sighed. “I’ll tell you what, if I don’t get what I need in the next, oh…let’s say ten minutes, then you can skin h
er out and see what the going rate on cheap meat is today. How’s that?”
John laughed as he squatted next to her chair and checked the ropes holding her.
“Yeah, some old lady’s terrier will have a hell of a time chewing her up.”
“He’d just spit her out,” Micah laughed.
John wagged his brows and mouthed, Not me. Micah could only shake his head in amusement.
“Now, Ms. Serborne, I’m sure you wouldn’t enjoy the preparations to make you a dog treat. So why not just tell us nicely who you’re looking for? You’re threatening our own little op here, and we don’t appreciate it.”
Her mouth remained a straight, stubborn line. Micah knew that line. Strangely enough, his father had once had the same determined, hardheaded set to his lips when he was pissed off.
She was family, sadly enough.
Micah’s father, Garren Abijah, hadn’t been Israeli. He’d been adopted by the Abijah family when his parents had been killed visiting them.
Garren Serborne had become Garren Abijah, with no objection from the American branch of the family. The blond-haired Nordic giant who Garren Abijah had later become, raised amid a Mossad family, had been recruited by the CIA with Mossad’s blessing and worked primarily in Israel.
Bailey Serborne, the little witch sitting in front of him, had been the daughter of Garren’s favorite cousin. Once they had become adults, the two men had made certain they visited often.
Ben Serborne, Bailey’s father, Bailey, and her mother had been the only American family in attendance at both Ariela and Garren Abijah’s funerals.
Bailey had cried on Micah’s shoulder. Already an agent with the CIA, she had vowed to kill Orion. He had nearly killed her instead. Orion had killed her partner, then knocked Bailey unconscious and sliced her wrists. Not enough to bleed her out, just enough to scar her for life.
The bastard was taking a toll on his family, Micah thought furiously.
“Psst, I don’t think she can answer questions if you don’t ask them,” John reminded him long moments later.
As John spoke, he was rubbing a long swath of Bailey’s thick black hair between his fingers, pulling at it just a little and causing her to make another of those enraged little snarls of fury.
“You’re here for Orion,” he began.
“I’m not worried in the least about fucking Orion,” she snarled. “Not now.”
Micah’s brows lifted. “Why not now?”
“You’re the bastard sleeping with his mark, aren’t you?” A satisfied little smile curled at her lips. “I’ve been trying to figure out who the hell you were for a week. I finally recognized your voice. Where did you pick up your buddy?” She tried to slam her head into John’s when he blew into her ear.
“And you heard my voice where?” Micah asked, neither confirming nor denying the charge.
“At the nightclub the night you picked up the Clay girl,” Bailey sneered. “She was rather easy, wasn’t she, bub?”
It was a damned good thing Bailey was family; otherwise, he might have to kill her for that.
“Now, you should have warned me that you wanted to play hardball,” he said coldly. “I could have let my friend here take some hide off your arm just to prove he could do it.”
She stilled as John ran a finger slowly down her arm.
He was going to have to have a talk with John about his chair-side manner here any moment.
“Sorry. Maybe she wasn’t so easy after all.” Her smile was tight. “But you are the man that moved in with her. I know you are. You’re after Orion, aren’t you?”
“So what makes you think you shouldn’t have to worry about Orion now?” he quizzed her curiously.
“Micah Sloane, age thirty-two, Navy SEAL, my ass,” she snorted. “You’re a nobody, Mr. Sloane. You have a very impressive record, and you just happened to be listed as working with the Durango team in the Middle East. Sorry, sweetcheeks, that doesn’t jife with me. You’re no SEAL.”
