Page 29 of Lock ’N’ Load

When he’d arrived at Langley, he’d researched most of the employees. Without clearance, the only thing he’d managed to discover about Trista’s current assignment was that it had something to do with the Russians. On the personal side, agency gossip didn’t reveal Trista and Kevin were an item. Acknowledging that he’d even checked them out pissed him off even more. He had no business being jealous of who she stayed the night with. And yet…curiosity had him wondering whether she slept in plain cotton jammies or something sexy, like silk or satin.

He grinned. Based on what she’d been wearing when she answered the door a few nights ago, he’d guess cotton. But holy hell, she wore plain cotton like no other woman could. One look at those skimpy shorts and snug tank top, and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue.

The shorts barely covered the shapely globes of her ass and a tiny waist, and the tight tank clung to a pair of full breasts, stretching the material to the point where he could totally envision how perfectly they would fit in his hands. When she’d leaned over to pick up her cat, he’d gotten a tantalizing view of creamy, mounding flesh. Enough of a view that his pulse had pounded faster, and he’d had to shift positions to hide the stiffening erection pushing against the zipper of his uniform pants.

Thinking of Trista had him reassessing relationships he’d had with women. They were always temporary, and he knew that going in. Occasionally, one of the women he hooked up with got hurt, mistakenly believing there was more to what they shared than just sex. But usually, they understood he wasn’t looking for commitment, let alone permanency.

Exiting the highway, he turned onto the road that would take him to the Moose. Jerry would have liked the place…had he lived. Jerry’s birthday and the anniversary of his death were on the same day. November 2. Groaning, Matt ran a hand through his hair.

In a few weeks, one member of Matt’s family or another would come knocking on his door, inviting him to attend the fundraiser banquet that not only honored Jerry but raised money for a different charity each year. Jerry’s folks had been holding the banquet every year on the same day since Jerry died. Not once had Matt attended. He couldn’t. Ever. He could never face Jerry’s parents again, and nothing would change that.

Up ahead, the Moose came into view, and as he pulled into the lot and parked, he automatically scanned the area where Trista had been dragged into the woods. Shoving the gearshift into park with more force than necessary, he realized the extent of his anger toward her unknown assailant. The asshole was still out there, and if Matt ever got his hands on the guy, he’d pummel the shit out of him all over again.

Trista might have more brains than most, but she was so slight she was helpless against anyone who tried to harm her. The world was such a dangerous place these days. In his opinion, every woman should take some form of self-defense training.

Less than a second after pushing open the door to the Moose, he spotted his friends at the end of the packed bar. Since they all towered over pretty much everyone else, it was hard to miss them. And, naturally, they were the rowdiest crew there, shouting and slapping one another on the back.

Friends aside, the Moose was definitely hopping. Loud music pumped from large overhead speakers, reverberating in his ears. Laughter and voices came at him from the many tables crammed with patrons.

“Matt!” Nick Houston, a sergeant with the Massachusetts State Police, met him before he even made it to the bar, then bear-hugged him, lifting him clear off his feet. The sincerity in Nick’s steel-gray gaze confirmed that his best friend really had missed him.

“Connors, you son of a bitch.” Jaime Pataglio, a tall olive-skinned Italian from the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey clapped Matt on the back.

Dayne Andrews from the FBI’s Newark, New Jersey office shook Matt’s hand, his emerald-green eyes as piercing as ever.

Next, Eric Miller, a blond, blue-eyed giant of an ATF agent, fist-bumped him, followed by a firm handshake from Markus York, a Secret Service uniformed officer with eyes as dark as the night sky and a fresh, angry scar over his left eye. Markus had recently transferred to D.C. and was bunking with Matt while he waited to close on a new house. Last but hardly least, considering he was over six-three, was Kade Sampson, a Homeland Security patrol officer from New York.

“Good to see you, buddy.” Nick wrapped his arm around Matt’s shoulder, urging him to the bar.

“You, too,” he replied, and meant it. It was good to see all his friends again. Knowing they were out there, only a phone call away, had kept him grounded during some of the crappiest of days, but it wasn’t the same as hanging out with them and shooting the shit in person.

“Sheila, anything my friend wants,” Nick said to the bartender.

The pretty twentysomething blonde Matt once had a brief fling with winked at him. “The usual, Matt?”

“You sure we can’t convince you to have one beer with us?” Kade asked.

“Nah, I’m good.” He nodded to the bartender. And he was good. Alcohol would always be a thing of his past and not a good thing, by any means.

After Sheila handed him a large mug of club soda with lime, everyone held up their drinks for a toast.

“To the dogs,” Jaime said. “And the women.”

“Hear, hear,” they all repeated, clinking bottles together so loudly Matt was sure some of them would shatter.

“Hey, Matt. Long time no see.” A curvy brunette with deep-red lipstick and carrying a tray of empties grabbed his arm, standing on her tiptoes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Heard you saved some girl out in the parking lot. And by the way”—she glanced behind her—“I saw Charlene lurking around here somewhere. She was asking if you came in anymore.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

His friends snickered.

“Good to see you, too, Lynette.”

“She’s cute.” Markus leaned around Matt to follow Lynette’s swinging hips as she rounded the bar. “You dating her, too?”

He gave Markus a look of disapproval. “We dated a few times, but no sparks. Just be nice to her or I’ll have to kick your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Markus flipped him off, then headed for the bar where Lynette was busy dropping off her empties.