So, what did you think?  Did Rachel end up with the man you wanted to see her with?  I think she’ll be happy with Jack.

 

And what will happen to Tom?  Sandy did an awesome job of showing us what a stand-up guy he is.  I have to wonder if he will ever find his Happily Ever After, though?  Maybe one day.

 

Until then, we promised our readers and commenters a couple of prizes.  Today, we are drawing for one of the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales cookbooks.  This is a real treat in itself.  With recipes contributed by agents, editors, published authors and our very own Petit Fours and Hot Tamales authors; there will definitely be something for everyone.

 

Okay, no more stalling. 

 

The winner for our fabulous cookbook came from Chapter #5 and is Pam Asberry!

 

Congratulations Pam!  Click here and send us your mailing address so that we can send you your prize.

 

To everyone else, check back on Sunday when Sandy draws another name from our Group Novel commentors to win a second prize.

 

Have a great weekend!!!

 

by Sandy Elzie

After the briefing, Rachel tossed and turned until early morning when she slid into an uneasy sleep.

The alarm jerked her from a dream where Jack’s hospital bed was being rolled toward two swinging doors at the end of the corridor. She ran to catch up so she could tell him that she loved him and would be waiting for him, but the nurses started running, shoving the gurney faster and faster. It never reached the doors and she never caught up.

She sat in the middle of the bed, her eyes closed and her chin resting on her chest as she heaved a sigh before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The smell of coffee had seeped under the door, drawing her like a rat following the Pied Piper.

“God,” she groaned, “it’s too early.” She was down the hall and almost to the kitchen before she got her arms into the sleeves of her bathrobe and got the belt tied around her waist.

“Well, good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Tom quipped, folding the newspaper and laying it on the edge of the table. “I thought I was going to have to wake you in time for lunch.”

“Can it. I had a rough night and I’m not in the mood.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender. “Lulu and Lucia should be here any minute. They want to be here as if they’re working so it’ll be natural for them to leave here with you tonight. It’ll also give us time to go over the plan one more time.”

“Oh, Tom,” she groaned as she turned from the coffee pot, her mug held near her chest.

“Hey, don’t complain. The Bureau stands to bring down two very nasty characters and we can’t afford another screw up.”

Rachel sipped her coffee and thought back to the drugging kiss that had ended up blowing their cover.

“Has there been any change in Jack’s condition?”

‘No, but they expect him to be awake later this morning.”

Rachel pushed away from the cabinet where she had leaned.

“Hey, where you going?”

“To get dressed. Have the car brought around. I’m going to the hospital.”

“Rachel….”

His voice trailed off when she didn’t stop. She didn’t care what he had to say. It was more important that she be there for Jack right now. Besides, the next step in her mission was hours away. She’d be ready, but she had to see Jack and assure herself that he was all right.

* * * * *

She sat by his bed, holding his hand, rubbing her thumb over the knuckles on the back of the hand without the intravenous. When she had first opened the door to his room, she was immediately relieved to see that the ventilator was no longer in use, but that was short-lived as she drew closer and saw all the screens and wires still attached to monitor Jack’s progress.

His eyes had been closed, but his breathing was shallow and even. The biggest shock had been the pasty bread-dough color of his skin against the white sheets. Her heart had thundered until she realized that the continuous beep in the room was the machine monitoring his heart. He was going to be all right.

Her head rested on the mattress, her eyes closed as she prayed.

“Hey, woman.”

Her head snapped up, a smile beginning to lift the corners of her mouth even before her eyes were fully focused.

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?” She leaned forward in the chair to reach up to brush stray hairs off his forehead.

“Like I was…shoved off a bridge.” The words were spoken with hesitation and extra breaths in the middle of the sentence.

“Shhh, don’t talk. Save your energy. I’m glad to hear that you remember what happened. I think that’s a good sign.”

“How long….”

“It happened yesterday, so you weren’t out very long. As to how long you’ll have to stay in here…I’m not sure. They told me that it all depended on how well you responded. He indicated at least a couple more days…maybe longer.”

“Tom?”

“Everyone is fine.”

“The mission?”

Tom had briefed her not to tell Jack what was planned for that night. He feared that it would upset Jack when the injured man needed to conserve his energy to get better.

“We’re working on what we can do next. You know, Plan E, F, and G,” she chuckled softly, “just so I don’t have to wing it to come up with a story.”

“You did good,” he told her, his voice growing hoarse.

“Don’t talk any more. I need to be going. Tom wanted to get together sometime today to go over some possibilities. When you get back to the house, we could sure use your intelligence and suggestions.”

The faintest smile touched his bloodless lips as his eyes began to close.

“You need to sleep.” She stood and gently pressed her lips against his. When she leaned away, he had already drifted off. “Bye, my love.”

Every agent was in place; every possible scenario had been considered and planned for. It was time to put the mission in action.

It had been two hours since Santos had called to confirm that he would be present at the delivery of the two girls, both of whom were wired and excited to be involved in bringing down the two men responsible for the abuse and death of so many.

Rachel still shuddered when she thought back to the call from Santos.

* * * * *

Rachel flinched when the phone rang. Tom grabbed the walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “You guys ready down there?”

“Yeah, boss.”

Tom nodded for her to pick up the phone as it rang a second time.

“Hello?”

“Ah, Senora. I’m calling to be sure that we’re still going to meet tonight.”

Her skin crawled as she listened to the swarthy man’s voice. “Yes. Will you be meeting us there?”

“You don’t need to worry about me, I’ll take care of myself. Just remember that you’re not to mention our little meeting to Mr. Watson, si?  I’ll be watching, so don’t double-cross me.“

“No, I won’t.”

“I would hate to hurt that husband of yours more than he has already been hurt by Mr. Watson.”

“I’ll be there.”

The click was loud in her ear as she slowly hung up the receiver.

“Not long enough for a trace,” Tom mumbled as he slammed his palm against the wall, making her jump.

At half past eleven, Rachel and Tom climbed into the front of the Lincoln Town Car and the two female agents slid into the back. No one spoke during the twenty-minute trip, but just before turning onto Griffin Street, Tom broke the silence.

“Now don’t forget. You don’t….”

“Tom, please,” Rachel interrupted. “We all know what to do. You’re making me nervous just going over everything so many times,” she muttered the last part as she turned to look for the house number.

He released a breath in a huff.

“Yeah, Tom, give us a break,” Lulu chimed in from the back seat. “None of us are going to break our cover. We’re going to bag these scum and….”

“And throw them in the river to drown like a litter of unwanted kittens,” finished Lucia.

‘Yuck,” Rachel said, scrunching up her face in a grimace as she turned to glance at the woman sitting behind Tom.

Both women in the back snickered as Lucia shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry.”

Rachel marveled at how young the two women looked without makeup and with drab clothing. When they hung their heads they looked helpless and vulnerable. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

“Okay, ladies. I think we’re here.”

Beside the last house on the right there was an empty lot dotted with trees. At the end of the street there were no houses, allowing the car’s headlights to shine on playground equipment in the park that spread out beyond the cul-de-sac.

“Based on the house numbers, he must mean the park.”

“Ready?”

“Yep, let’s go. Take it slow. We don’t want to seem too eager.”

They stepped from the car, leaning against the warm hood as the dim streetlight cast shadows across the pavement. The night was still warm, but a slight breeze blew stray hairs across Rachel’s face to tickle her nose.

She opened her mouth to speak, but when a shadow moved from behind the trees, the words clogged in her throat. For an instant she wondered what had possessed her to join the FBI.

Her heart was pounding as she watched the person walking forward. When he stepped from the shadows, the streetlight illuminated the silver-colored gun he held pointed at them. She didn’t see his bodyguards, but she knew they wouldn’t be very far away.

“Where’s Santos? I told you to bring him.”

“I tried to get hold of him, but he never answered. I left a message that it was urgent,” she lied.

“Are these my two new girls?”

Rachel had momentarily forgotten about the other two agents standing behind her.

“Um, yes.” She turned toward the two young women and ushered them forward. “This is LuLu and her sister Lucia.” She stood with her arm around one of the women like she was comforting and protecting her. “You said that they’ll be going to a good home where the people will be nice to them?”

“Oh, yes, they will be well taken care of,” he said, a short chuckle accompanying the sneer.

“Why we must go, Missus?”

“It’ll be all right. I promise. This man has a couple that would love for you to come live with them and they will take good care of you,” she assured the young woman.

“Why gun?” Both girls cowered back, pretending to be frightened and hesitant.

“Come on, now, I don’t have all night. Tell them to come with me and not to cause me any trouble or it will be rough on them…and also on you,” he promised, even though he lowered the gun to point toward the ground.

The shot rang out from the left, the bullet hitting Frank Watson in the chest and spinning him around as it slammed him facedown on the ground. The agents all ducked behind the car as more shots rang out from among the trees.

A quick glance before she dropped behind the fender showed muzzle flash coming from two groves of trees. Amid the popping sounds of the volley of bullets, Rachel heard several groans. One bullet pinged off the hood of the Lincoln. Within moments, the firing ceased and silence reigned.

Not even a cricket dared make a sound.

From the trees on the far side of the car, tucked back into the shadows, a voice called out. “Mrs. Willoughby?”

Rachel recognized Santos. “Yes? Is it safe to come out?” The slight tremor in her voice wasn’t part of the act.

“Yes, yes.” His chuckle floated from the dark shadows where he had been hiding. “My men have taken care of Watson and his bodyguards. You’re safe.”

Rachel and the other agents cautiously stood, staring toward the sound of Santo’s voice as they waited for him to appear in the streetlamp’s glow.

The man looked smaller in the dusky night. Rachel focused in on the man, her hand rising to touch the gun inside her jacket. She hesitated, momentarily allowing her rage and anger to flood through her body to send thoughts of murder shooting through her brain. On this man’s orders, a bullet from a gun held by one of his goons had stolen her opportunity to punish Watson for what he had done to Jack. Her driving force to complete this mission had been to see Watson suffer like Jack was now suffering.

A hand on her lower back reminded her of the job she had to do and silently lent support as her chest heaved with anger held on a short leash. She glanced over her shoulder at Tom, giving him the barest nod of compliance and acceptance of how the chips had fallen. She allowed her arm to relax back to her side.

When Santos was fully exposed, just stepping onto the paved area of the cul-de-sac, Rachel saw three other men step from behind trees, their guns at ready, but not aimed in threat.

“Come, come, now. Don’t be afraid. We’re alone now and there’s no one to hurt you.”

He had taken only a couple more steps when men seemed to swarm from every angle, caging in Santos and his men in a web of drawn guns.

“FBI. Throw down your weapons and raise your hands!” The order was ignored by one of the three who backed Santos. In a flash, his body was riddled by several shots, slamming him back into the trees. One of the advancing agents ran to check the man, but only picked up the dropped weapon and stood at ready behind Santos and his two other men.

Within moments, they realized the foolishness of their situation and dropped the automatic weapons on the ground just before agents swarmed in and cuffed the three men still standing.

“This isn’t over,” Santos tossed over his shoulder toward Rachel as he was led toward a van that had just pulled down the street and now sat waiting to receive its passengers.

“It is for you,” muttered Tom at her back.

The revenge she had dreamed of would never happen, but young girls would be safer now, at least from these two predators.

* * * * *

Was that exciting or what? Now Santos has it in for Rachel. Yikes.

Think we’re done? Not quite. Tune in Thursday for the Epilogue of Atlanta Exposé. And get those comments in to win a copy of Cooking with the Petit Fours and Hot Tamales OR a $25 gift certificate to your choice of Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books a Million, or iTunes.

by Marilyn Baron  

“Frank Watson?” Santos growled and lumbered out of his chair like an angry black bear ready to maul his next victim. The scar on the brute’s cheek rippled as his facial muscles tightened.

Tom took an involuntary step back. Maybe he had overplayed his hand and unleashed a very dangerous enemy.

Santos waved his Beretta M9, the primary handgun of the U.S. military and a favorite of Colombian drug lords, and then trained it on Tom.

“Do you see this scar?” Santos asked, indicating his disfigurement with his empty hand.

Tom nodded. Was that a rhetorical question? You couldn’t see anything but the damn scar. It looked painful.

“Frank Watson did this to me. And I will hunt him down and make him pay. Now, tell me again what business you have with him. Tell me now and tell me fast. And tell me where Rachel Willougby fits into the picture. If you’re lying, I’ll know it and I’ll shoot you where you stand. Or one of my men will.” He nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen where Tom noticed two hulking shadows, no doubt two heavily-armed shadows.

Victor hadn’t yet pulled into the driveway. Rachel was safe, for the time being, if he could pull off Plan D. They’d exhausted Plan C. Pretty soon they were going to run out of letters in the alphabet. If Santos thought he was bluffing, he’d carry out his threat and then Rachel would be left unprotected. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He would lay down his life for Rachel. That’s how much she meant to him, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual.

“I’m, uh, Rachel’s brother, Tom. Her husband, Jack, is in the hospital fighting for his life. She has an appointment with Frank Watson Wednesday at midnight. She didn’t want to go alone.”

“I heard about his little accident,” Santos said, a cruel smile forming on his lips, which made his scar even more pronounced and his face even more grotesque.

“It was no accident,” groused Tom, suddenly remembering to trot out his very rusty Memphis accent. “That crash had Frank Watson’s fingerprints all over it. And it may leave my sister a widow.”

“Frank Watson is a vicious man. I speak from personal experience. He’s a viper and he strikes at everyone around him, friends and enemies alike. No one is safe around him. And he likes to take what doesn’t belong to him.”

Tom shook his head and thought, “And you’re a candidate for Man of the Year?”

“So where’s your sister now?”

“I’m expecting her any minute.” Tom hesitated. Apparently Santos had bought his story. With any luck he wouldn’t have the time or the brains to check out whether or not Rachel Willoughby even had a brother before the meeting tomorrow night.

“Look, Mr. Santos, Rachel’s been through a lot. I don’t want anything more to happen to her.”

“I have nothing against Mrs. Willoughby, except I know from some of my people I have on the inside of Watson’s organization is she’s involved with him somehow and I want to know how and why.”

Tom believed the truth, or as close to the truth as possible, was always the best way to go for a man out of options or facing the muzzle of a pistol.

“They’re scheduled to meet Wednesday at midnight. He’s going to find jobs for two of my sister’s young maids.”

“Jobs?” Santos bellowed and broke into a fit of laughter. “I’m sure. Do you know what kind of dirty business Frank Watson is into? Young girls are his particular specialty. And when he uses them up and, well, I’ll leave that to your imagination. You don’t want a man like Watson anywhere near your sister.”

This coming from Mr. Clean.

“My sister discovered her husband in a compromising position with the girls. She wants to find them a good home, just not her home.” Jeez, it sounded like Rachel was placing two lost kittens.

“Mr. Watson said he’d take care of the girls and he’d handle her other problem,” Tom continued.

“Oh he’ll handle them all right. Personally, and then…what’s the other problem?”

“Jack has gotten into some trouble gambling.”

“How much trouble are we talking about?”

“He’s down two million.”

“And Watson is going to help you out? What’s in it for him?”

“My sister’s marriage is on shaky ground right now. I think Frank Watson feels sorry for her.”

“I think maybe he feels a lot more than sorry. Frank Watson doesn’t do anything unless there’s a personal payoff.”

Tom heard the car pull into the driveway. It must be Victor and Rachel. He was surprised Santos couldn’t hear his heart beating. He wished there was some way to warn her before she came stumbling into this nightmare.

“You expecting someone?”

“My sister. Let me go out and talk to her.” Damn, it was difficult to stay cool when Rachel’s life was at risk. Tom started to move toward the door.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Santos ordered, stopping Tom in his tracks.

“How do you think it will look if she comes in and sees you waving a gun around?”

“Then she’ll know I mean business. Where’s the meet?”

“A house on Griffen Street. 385 Griffen Street, I think she said. He’s having us picked up in a black Lexus.”

“That’s good to know,” said Santos. “I’ll want all the details.”

That moment, Rachel sailed into the room and halted in place when she saw a man holding a gun on Tom.

“T-Tom?” Rachel stammered.

“Sis,” Tom said pointedly, “I want you to meet Ottavio Santos.”

Rachel’s eyes went wide but she followed Tom’s lead.

“Mr. Santos,” Rachel said smoothly, inclining her head and gliding toward him to shake his hand. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” Trained professionals didn’t freak out.

Ottavio Santos eyed her like a juicy frank at the beginning of a Nathan’s Coney Island hot dog-eating contest. “The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Willoughby.”

Rachel’s hand felt clammy and unclean in Santos’s, but he refused to release it and he kept an equally tight hold on his semi-automatic pistol. She tried not to focus on his scar.

She glanced at Tom and then back to their uninvited guest.

“Forgive my manners,” said Santos, lowering his gun. “You can’t be too careful these days when you’re dealing with a man like Frank Watson.”

“What does Mr. Watson have to do with this?” Rachel feigned ignorance. How the hell did this degenerate get into my house? My cover house.

“Your brother explained everything about your husband’s problems. How is your husband by the way?”

“Jack is, well, I guess improving. But it’s really too early to tell.” She didn’t have to fake her concern. She was genuinely worried.

“Now that I’ve seen you, I can understand why Mr. Watson would take such a personal interest in your…situation.”

“Tom, exactly what did you tell Mr. Santos?” Rachel demanded, lips pursed.

“Everything,” Tom admitted, his eyes pleading for Rachel to understand. “About the gambling, the women, our meeting with Watson.”

Rachel fixed her eyes on Tom and whipped out what she thought was her most indignant-sounding, Memphis-laced voice.

“Does everyone in the world have to know about Jack’s gambling problem? I thought we were handling that.”

“Two million dollars is a little much to handle. Mr. Santos has generously offered to, shall we say, bail Jack out if we will invite him along to our little midnight rendezvous Wednesday.”

Rachel wavered. “Do you really think that’s such a good idea? It’s a private meeting.”

“It’s our only option,” Tom replied, nodding his head toward the gun at Ottavio Santos’s side.

Santos smiled. “I’m glad you see reason. Again, it was a pleasure.” Santos finally dropped Rachel’s hand. “I’ll put a tail on the car to make sure you don’t get lost and that we all arrive safely at our destination. And then, Frank Watson is in for a big surprise.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” added Santos, as he ambled out of the room, followed by his shadow goons.

She followed the men to the front door and locked it behind them. Rachel turned on Tom.

“What’s going on? Are you trying to get us killed? What were you thinking, bringing Ottavio Santos to a meeting with his arch enemy? Playing those two against each other will be like watching two sharks circling when they smell blood in the water. I just hope it’s not our blood.”

“You seem a little revved up, Rachel.”

“Revved up? Don’t get me started. It’s been a hell of day. This is just the dying gasp. I’m beat, that’s all.” Trained professionals didn’t cry.

Tom came to Rachel and wrapped her in his arms. “You okay?” he asked, gently nuzzling her cheek.

Rachel allowed herself be hugged because she needed it. She was bone tired and almost dead on her feet. It would be so easy to get lost again in the warmth of Tom’s love, to be lured back into that anesthetized halo of happiness, to sink back into the status quo, to follow the path of least resistance. She needed to feel secure and Tom had a way of calming her down instantly, of making it seem like things would turn out all right.

It had taken all her strength to see Jack languishing in the hospital, looking like the life was draining out of him. Yet his warm hand in hers had been a beacon of hope. If only he’d opened his eyes and seen her there. It might have made a difference in his recovery. She hadn’t wanted to leave his side, not for a minute, for fear she’d be seeing him for the last time. But Dr. Morganstern had insisted Jack needed his rest and from the looks of it, so did she.

“How is Jack?”

“Better, I guess,” Rachel sighed. She really didn’t believe it and she needed to get her mind off Jack and back to business. “Now tell me what this close encounter with the Devil was all about.” She broke from Tom’s embrace and it was like leaving a warm, cozy bed on a frosty night.

“It surprised the hell out of me, too,” Tom explained. He looked like he was having trouble letting her go. “I walked in and there he sat, holding a Beretta on me, with his back-up band Motley Crue holed up in the kitchen ready to finish the job if I made a wrong move.”

“You didn’t blow your cover did you?”

“You mean did I whip out my Glock? Hardly. The guy would have blown my head off and I wasn’t in a particular mood to die. Who would protect you then?”

“Um, I think you’ve got that backwards, ace. It looked to me like you were the one who needed protecting. It’s a good thing I came along when I did bro.”

“How else was I supposed to explain what another man was doing in your living room?”

“But my brother?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you meet with Watson by yourself now that Jack is in the hospital. And how would it look if your lover was waiting at home to greet you after you’d just come from the hospital grieving over your critically-ill husband? You are grieving, aren’t you? Or are those fake bags under your eyes?”

“Tom,” Rachel said softly, blowing out a breath.

“It’s okay. You can’t fool the FBI. I can see the handwriting on the wall.”

“Tom, I don’t even know where things stand between Jack and me, or even if he’ll make it.”

“Well, where do things stand between you and me then, or do I even want to know the answer to that question?”

“Tom, I don’t know what to say. And I can’t think straight, not tonight.”

“Look, I won’t pressure you. We’re all tired. Let’s get a good night’s rest.” The way Tom’s eyes filled with regret, they both knew they weren’t going to be sharing a bed.

“Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day,” Tom said. “It may be our last. But first, I’ve got to round up our naughty Venezuelan maids.”

“Lulu and Lucia? Do you think they can pass for teenagers?”

“They’re our youngest agents,” Tom observed, tastefully leaving out the fact that they were also, by all informal Bureau polls, the hottest. “As long as they dress the part, or hardly dress at all, a pig like Watson won’t look too closely. And they’re bilingual. I think they can carry it off. Let’s all meet back here in twenty minutes so I can brief you on Plan D.”

*  *  *  *  *  *

Tom is a slick one, isn’t he? I can’t wait for tomorrow. Don’t forget — Chapter 10 — Tuesday.

It’s getting down to the finish. Not just for Tom and Rachel, but for your comments. We’ll be drawing our winners this Friday and Sunday! To learn more about that, click here.

by Debbie Kaufman

Rachel was pretty sure that if forever felt like the ride to Atlanta Medical Center where Jack had been taken, then forever was a lot longer than she’d expected. Time stretched infinitely while waiting to know if Jack would live or die. Her life had changed in the space of one, two-minute phone call. There were only two things in life left that she was certain of now.

One, that she loved Jack. And two, she would pull the trigger on Frank Watson herself and put the world out of its misery if Jack died. It might end her short career as a Fed, but it would be worth it for all the suffering the man caused in the world.

The stricken look on Tom’s face earlier said he might beat her to it. But just as soon as it had come it was gone and Tom, the consummate professional Fed, had taken over before they even got out the door, insisting she maintain her cover once they’d heard Jack was alive and being extricated from the crumpled Mercedes. They would wait in the mansion, he insisted, until Jack was at the hospital, and then Mrs. Jack Willoughby would be taken by her driver to be there with her husband.

He’d patiently explained why Jack, two minutes from Northside Hospital, was being diverted to Atlanta Medical Center, a level-two trauma hospital that could better care for him. The very fact that he needed a trauma center tied her stomach in a knot complete with bow and gift card.

She’d wanted to scream at Tom, at anyone really. How could he be so callous when his best friend was dying? Standing there, coldly explaining this is what Jack would want. If he died…IF HE DIED? Yes, if he died, it wouldn’t be in vain. They could still continue the undercover operation against Frank Watson and his so-called String of Pearls charity.

Bullshit. The attempt on Jack alone should have given the green light for the arrest of that sociopathic scumbag.

But no, it wasn’t enough. Tom wouldn’t settle for anything less than the human trafficking ring dismantled and Frank Watson in jail for the rest of his life. No wiggle room for a defense lawyer to exploit, that’s how he had put it as he helped her into the car. Maintain cover. Too much had gone into this operation to drop it now.

Would they even bury him as Jack Willoughby to keep his cover? She wouldn’t put it past Tom.

Until now, she’d thought Jack was the cold one, compartmentalized to a fault. How could Tom go from bended knee and a ring in one hand to putting her in the Lincoln alone with only Victor?

There was something to be said for all the anger that raged in her right now. It kept the tears at bay and fueled her aching, sleep-deprived body.

There was also something to be said for maintaining her cover. The hospital would treat her as Jack’s wife and no one would be able to shut her out of his care. This was one area Tom wouldn’t be able to control.

The satisfaction of that thought carried her as she left the car at the Emergency Room entrance and pushed through the blanket of humidity that was a Georgia night in June. It carried her through the whooshing automatic doors and into the blast of arctic antiseptic air. It carried her as she was escorted to the nurse’s station where she signed surgical consent forms in her cover name without batting an eye. It dropped her like the proverbial hot potato when she parted the cubicle curtain and saw the bruises on the chalky canvas that was Jack’s broken body and heard the whooshing rhythm of a ventilator breathing for him.

She’d been given five minutes before they whisked him away to surgery to remove his spleen and check for other internal bleeding. Five minutes to stare at his broken and battered body and hold his hand. Five minutes to wonder if this was the last time she would see him alive.

Tom paced in Dr. Morganstern’s office, impatient for any news and unhappy that he couldn’t be with Rachel. Morganstern, the chief of surgery at Atlanta Medical, had promised to personally deliver any news once it was available. But it had been three hours since they’d taken Jack to surgery and he still hadn’t heard anything.

He’d taken a risk coming here and being seen. Since he was the handler for this operation, no cover was in place to explain his presence if the wrong person saw him. Fortunately, Dr. Morganstern had been an ally once before and had allowed Tom to wait here for news. Unfortunately, the last time they’d needed Morganstern’s help, their agent hadn’t lived. Tom couldn’t help but wonder if he was about to have a second agent’s death on his hands if Jack didn’t make it.

He didn’t know if he could continue if that happened.

Or if he lost Rachel. And right now that looked a lot more likely. The look on her face when he’d told her to maintain her cover and put her in the car with Victor replayed through his mind like a bad PTSD episode. He’d made the right call for the case. But not the right call for his relationship with Rachel.

But maybe, he tortured himself, it was already lost. Lost to Jack. Had it ever really been his or was the passion they’d shared a lie? Was Rachel really in love with Jack and just settling for him? The look in her eyes when she’d heard about Jack, when she’d seen the ring….

Too many questions and not enough answers. The temptation grew to leave the office and go find someone who could at least answer his questions about Jack. Then the doorknob turned and Tom drew his gun just in case things had gone horribly wrong.

Dr. Morganstern entered wearing soiled green scrubs and fatigue like a battle flag. His eyes widened at the sight of the Glock in Tom’s hand and he hesitated while Tom reholstered his weapon.

“Sorry about that, Doc. Couldn’t be sure who was coming through the door.”

“I’d appreciate if you didn’t make any more work for me tonight, agent.” Morganstern shut the door behind him, scraped off his scrub cap, tossed it on his desk and reached in his drawer for a bottle of Maker’s Mark and two tumblers.

Tom started to protest his on-duty status and then thought better of it. He might need a stiff drink to get through whatever Dr. Morganstern had to say.

Rachel looked at all the tubes and wires attached to Jack and tried like hell to remember the ICU nurse’s reassurances. The ventilator was only temporary to take some of the stress off his body. They hoped to start weaning him off of it tomorrow. Barring any unforeseen complications, he’d be moved to a regular room later tomorrow afternoon. They all nodded sagely and repeated over and over again just how lucky Jack had been.

Lucky? Rachel pushed an errant lock off Jack’s forehead. Seemed like they couldn’t work a case together without the guy getting hurt. Only this was a far cry from his broken wrist when they took down Van Buren in Aspen last year. Whatever Jack’s lottery ticket numbers were, she hoped they never came up on a random pick for her.

They’d only given her ten minutes with him and then she’d have to head back to her pseudo-home in Buckhead or sleep in the waiting room. She’d thought about staying, but knowing he was out of danger had finally drained all the adrenaline from her body. She knew, even without the note and direct order from Tom, she needed to go to sleep in a real bed, not wrestle with orange plastic chairs under fluorescent lighting.

Of course Tom’s reasoning had been she shouldn’t appear too shaken over Watson’s ordered hit on her “husband.” If she stayed at the hospital around the clock she’d give the wrong impression and jeopardize the case.

Bastard.

She knew she wasn’t being fair, but she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the real Tom. One who only cared about the case and not his friend? Surely she couldn’t have been so wrong about a man who’d gotten close enough to her to propose.

What would she have said, she wondered as she smoothed Jack’s covers, if Tom’s moment on bended knee hadn’t been interrupted by the news of Jack’s accident? But, she thought as she took Jack’s one free hand in hers, it wasn’t just the accident.

There was the kiss. The kiss that stood between her and a ring-wielding Tom as effectively as if Jack had stood there himself, planted between them.

The kiss that had changed everything.

It was that damn kiss, Tom acknowledged, that had sent everything careening down the wrong path. If Jack hadn’t kissed Rachel, they wouldn’t have had to go to the backup plan. If they hadn’t had to go to the backup plan, Jack wouldn’t have been beaten up. If Jack hadn’t been beaten up, he wouldn’t have been on his way to the hospital and have ended up crumpled in an accordion that used to pass for a Mercedes.

If Rachel hadn’t kissed him back….

Tom shook his head and headed out the employees’ exit toward his parked sedan. He didn’t want to think about Rachel kissing Jack at this point. He had to keep his head in the game and close the case.

He hit the unlock button on his key chain and heard the corresponding snick. Rachel had a meeting on Wednesday with Watson. Could she keep her cool with Jack in the hospital because of that sociopath?

Tom slid behind the wheel, started the car, and headed for the exit. He wanted to get back to the house and slip into place before Rachel got there.

The drive to Buckhead was always quicker at four in the morning. Atlanta traffic hadn’t shifted into gear yet. Tom circled the block a couple of times, looking for any watchers, any cars out of place.

Nothing. He parked down the street, approached from the rear and through the back fence gate. The house was quiet. He stopped in the kitchen for something to drink and then through the living room toward the first floor bedroom he’d commandeered. He wanted to catch a quick nap while he could. Rachel would be back soon, but Victor was driving her, so he could afford a few minutes to himself.

It was a measure of just how tired he was that he almost passed the figure sitting in the wingback chair in the dark. It was the glint of moonlight off the barrel of a gun that first caught his attention.

“Don’t go for a gun. I assure you that I have the advantage and will shoot.” A soft, deadly voice instructed him. The thick Hispanic accent was a dead giveaway that the speaker hadn’t been born here.

The light beside the chair switched on and Tom sized up the new player. The knife scar from his left eye to the corner of his mouth was unmistakable. Together with the accent, the heavy build, the military style black haircut…Tom knew exactly who he was looking at. He just didn’t know why or how this man had entered the game.

“You are not the lovely young woman I was expecting. Tell me quickly who you are and where I can find Rachel Willoughby.” The speaker’s head inclined in apparent civility.

“What business do you have with Rachel that has you sitting here in the dark? With a gun?” Tom played for time, praying Rachel and Victor were delayed somehow.

“My business is my own. Now answer my question or you will have no apparent usefulness to me.”

Tom thought hard and played his trump card, hoping it wouldn’t get him killed. “I beg to differ, Mr. Santos. Any business you have with Rachel, especially if it’s about your rival, Frank Watson, is definitely my business.”

*  *  *  *  *

Santos is in the mansion? Is anybody getting out of this alive? Tune in Monday for the final week of Atlanta Exposé. I can’t wait!

Enter your comments now for prizes. The competition is heating up as much as the story.

by Tami Brothers

Knock. Knock.

Jeesh! The man just couldn’t take no for an answer.

Rachel ignored the door and jerked her cotton T-shirt up and over her head. She exhaled a low moan as her battered muscles revolted against this simple act. Gentling her movements, she lowered her arms. There was a bruise blossoming around her right bicep where Watson’s bodyguard had grabbed her earlier. She also had a cut on her left forearm where she landed when she’d been thrown against the wall in the holding room. They’d been lucky tonight. Even with the injuries Jack sustained, it could have been a whole lot worse.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Go away, Jack!” She growled the words even as thoughts of their earlier kiss filled her with warmth. She was so not ready to face the man, didn’t have her resolve back in place yet. Hell, she’d almost allowed him to kiss her again half an hour earlier. Lord how she’d wanted him to. Another low moan escaped her throat, but this one was because just the memory of that kiss caused her stomach to tingle in anticipation.

Not going there! After a slight shake of her head, she pulled on a pair of jeans and jerked up the zipper. The muscles that had loosened up in the soothing shower she’d just stepped out of were again knotted and tight because of the sexual tension that had her on edge.

Damn him! She liked this job. She liked Tom. What she couldn’t block out was the fact that she also liked Jack. Okay, so she really liked Jack, but that didn’t give her a reason to throw away everything she’d worked for this past year. Just because the man wouldn’t stay out of her dreams didn’t mean she could throw away the best career opportunity she’d ever had. Or the best relationship.

Knock. Knock.

Crap! Rachel gathered up the ruined dress from the bathroom floor and stomped into the adjoining suite. “Damn it, Jack! I said go away.”

“It’s not Jack, Rachel.” There was a pause. “Are you okay?”

Relief washed over her and the tension drained from her body. Tom. Without a second thought, she changed direction and flipped the lock on the door. Pulling it open with her free arm, she smiled up into the angelic face of the man who was sharing her life and the main reason for her conflicting feelings about Jack’s kiss.

“Sorry about that.”

“No problem. How are you doing?”

Rachel couldn’t help but notice the tightness bracketing his normal easy-going grin or the pinched skin between his eyes. He heard. The soothing effect Tom normally evoked in her quickly fled. If only she could avoid the determined look in his eyes and the discussion she knew was coming.

“I’m fine. Just trashing this dress.” Wanting a second to gather her thoughts, she turned away from the door.

“I liked that dress.”

She laughed as she dug around in one of the drawers for the plastic bag she’d stuck in there earlier. “Me, too. It certainly wasn’t cheap.”

“I’m sure the bureau will be more than happy to cover the damage. Make sure you list it on your expense sheet.”

After shoving the damaged dress into the bag, she dropped the whole thing back inside and shut the drawer. “Don’t think I won’t.”

“Rachel.”

Done stalling, she turned back around. Just like she’d suspected, Tom hadn’t stepped foot into the room. Instead, he leaned against the open door jam, his arms lazily crossed over his chest. With the sleeves of his white dress shirt rolled up his tanned forearms, he looked like Matthew McConaughey’s twin. His boy-next-door charm was a magnet for women and what initially attracted her to him. The fact it was genuine was what made tonight’s indiscretion that much harder to face. “What’s on your mind?”

“You had a busy night tonight.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.”

He flashed a grin that lasted all of two seconds before it slipped away. His pinched expression was echoed through the strain in his voice when he finally asked, “Are you okay?”

His gaze had lowered to the bruise on her arm and then rose back to her face, but the question was laced with an undertone that Rachel could only interpret. “I’m fine.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Really, it could have been a whole lot worse.”

“That’s what worries me.”

“Hey. You know this job doesn’t come with any guarantees. We all knew the risks going into it.”

“I know. I’ve just never been in this position before. When I heard Watson…when I knew your cover was blown….” Tom straightened away from the doorframe and in an act of sheer frustration, ran his hands down his face. When he finally lowered them back to his sides, Rachel could see pure misery reflected in his eyes. “Then when you guys went back inside…damn, Rachel. You could have been killed.”

“Tom.” Rachel was back by his side before she’d realized she’d moved, her arms slipping around his waist. When he pulled her against his chest, she felt the tension he was holding on to. The muscles around her heart squeezed tight as his fear enveloped her.

Pulling back to give herself space enough to breathe, she looked into his eyes. “I’m fine, Tom. Jack didn’t know about the back-up plan. We recovered enough that the investigation wasn’t completely blown. Watson thinks Santos is the reason we were there, so we still have a shot at bringing him down.”

A flash of something crossed his face before he was able to completely cover it up. With the change, he pulled back and stepped away. Rachel wrapped her arms across her chest in an attempt to hold on to some of the warmth. Tom slid his hands inside his pants pockets and paced to the window. His rigid back was a wall blocking his emotions from her.

Rachel couldn’t stand to see him like this. “Things happen. What went down tonight couldn’t be helped.”

“Which part? The kiss that botched the whole plan, or you almost dying at the hands of a mad man? Because I’m pretty sure some of that could have been helped.”

Okay. No beating around the bush tonight. The hurt underlying his words tore at her heart. The touch of jealousy mixed in with his fear was like a knife slicing deeper with each syllable. Rachel knew she stood at a crossroads. As much as she would like to avoid it, deep down she knew she was about to be confronted with a decision that could quite possibly cost her everything she’d worked so hard to achieve this past year, along with her heart.

Tom knew the moment the words left his mouth he wasn’t ready to say them. Too late now. He knew that by bringing this issue up, there was a very real possibility of losing this woman. Hell, he was lucky to have her in the first place. If it hadn’t been for Jack breaking his leg, he would have missed out on playing the hero when he rescued Rachel in Aspen. Was he ready to put all that on the line?

“Tom. That kiss was not planned and it shouldn’t have happened.”

He turned to face her. Maybe he wasn’t ready, but he couldn’t hang in limbo anymore. That kiss between his best friend and the woman he thought of as his girlfriend had awakened something in him that wanted to tear through the calm exterior he presented to the world. Jealousy was a completely foreign feeling to him and he didn’t like it. “You think? You and I are practically living together. Do you have any idea how hard that was to listen to? And on top of that, during a sting? You were wired, Rachel. I had half the team looking at me to see my reaction. The other half wouldn’t look me in the eye. Is that what you mean by ‘it shouldn’t have happened?’ Because I’d really like some clarification.”

With his hands on his hips, he watched as Rachel stood her ground and took his accusations head on. Her strength was one of the things that had originally attracted him to her. Unfortunately, it was also a quality Jack was attracted to. Hence, the reason he was in this position. Under normal circumstances he and Jack didn’t go for the same type of girl. On the rare occasion they did, it was usually first one to see her, got her. He’d been fine with that arrangement. Until Rachel.

The moment she’d fallen into his arms outside of the Aspen lodge, he’d wanted her. Seeing her with Jack had been the hardest thing in the world for him to stand by and watch. But he knew the rules and he’d planned to stick with them. Then when he’d been the one to ride in on the snowmobile and rescue her, she’d come to him. Not Jack. The feeling of Rachel in his arms since then had made it well worth breaking the unwritten oath he had with his friend.

Up until tonight, he’d been able to ignore that nagging sense that told him Rachel was holding back. He’d pushed the thought that something wasn’t quite right to the back of his mind and ignored what was so obviously staring him in the face. Until now.

That kiss this evening had changed everything. There was no more ignoring the obvious attraction between Rachel and Jack. He couldn’t live like that. Tonight Rachel would have to choose.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

Tom rolled his head back and closed his eyes. Embarrass. Not the words he’d hoped to hear.

“Tom.”

With a shake of his head he stopped her from saying anything else. He had to finish this his way. Steeling his resolve, he reached into his pocket and closed his fingers around the ring he’d slipped in there before coming to her room. He’d planned a more romantic setting for this, something with a glamorous setting, champagne and delicious food. But he had a feeling now was the time. If he didn’t do it now, then he would never get another opportunity.

Slipping his hand out of his pocket, he took the two steps that closed the distance between them. Without a word, he stood for a moment and took in the watery green eyes and tense jaw. God, he loved this woman.

Before he lost his nerve, he reached and grasped her hand. He saw the brief flash of confusion on her face before he dropped down to one knee. He felt the squeeze of her hand and heard the intake of her breath when his actions shocked her. Too late to back down now.

After a fortifying breath, he swallowed the fear that kept screaming at him to ‘stop now before it’s too late.’ He lifted the ring he held between his fingers. “Rachel. I’ve spent the last year loving you. Tonight opened my eyes. Both with what happened with Watson and with Jack. Maybe part of it was my fault for not saying this to you sooner.”

“Tom—”

“Let me finish, Rachel.” He could see her jaw clenching as she bit back what she’d wanted to say. He cleared his throat and continued with the hard part. “I love you. I’ve wanted to tell you this since the night of your graduation from the academy. When I asked you where you wanted to celebrate, you said my apartment. I knew then that if I could, I’d keep you there forever.

“I want the security of knowing you’re mine. If Watson had hurt you, I would have ripped this town apart to find that bastard.” He paused as the thought of what could have happened washed over him. Swallowing the knot forming in his throat, he shook the thought away and continued.

“I wanted to do this right. I wanted to offer you all the glamour of Bistro Niko. But I couldn’t wait. After that kiss between you and Jack, I couldn’t wait for the perfect moment. Rachel, I want to know you’re going to be there when I come home at night. I want to know I’m the one you reach for when you want comfort. I want to know your heart belongs to me. I’m offering you my heart and soul with this ring but I want you to want me. And only me. The thought of losing you tonight was excruciating, but the thought of you wanting Jack while you’re with me is cutting my heart out.

“So I’m giving you a choice. Marry me. Take my ring and wear it if you love me. But only if it’s me you truly want.”

He ended the speech on the very last breath he had and felt his chest tighten in anticipation. There were tears flowing freely down Rachel’s face and he wasn’t sure how to interpret that. He watched as she visibly swallowed and then anticipated what she would say when she opened her mouth to speak. Just then the radio on his belt cracked to life. “Incoming call, boss. It’s Watson.”

In the next second, the cell phone on Rachel’s nightstand rang.

Damn it! Reaching down, he pulled the radio off his belt and keyed the mike. “Start the trace as soon as Rachel picks up.”

Rising to his feet, he admired the way Rachel visibly transformed from the weeping woman who was about to answer his question into the fearless agent she’d been trained to be. She walked over and reached for the phone as it rang a second time, then glanced back at him. With a nod, he gave her the okay as he placed the listening device attached to his radio into his ear. This would allow him to listen in on the conversation.

“Hello?”

“Hello, love.”

The skin crawled on the back of Tom’s neck at the sickening endearment.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Watson?” Tom heard the way Rachel stressed the Mr. of his name and silently applauded the calmness of her voice.

“Just wanted to let you know I’ve taken care of that problem we discussed earlier.”

“Excuse me?” From the glee undeniably lacing Frank Watson’s voice, the look of concern in both Rachel’s voice and face were understandable. Tom’s instinct told him this wasn’t going to be a call scheduling their next meeting.

“I took care of that problem you were having with your husband.”

“Mr. Watson, I thought we had already discussed the situation regarding Mr. Santos and came up with a feasible plan to deal with the situation?”

“We did. And you will still follow through with that plan.”

Rachel paused. “I guess I’m not following what you mean then, Mr. Watson.”

“Call me Frank. And let’s just say, Rachel, you don’t need to worry about your husband getting you into another jam like he did tonight. I had my men take care of him for you.”

“Wh—what do you mean?”

“Mr. Willoughby just took a short trip off the Glenridge Bridge over 400. It’s highly doubtful he survived the fall, but if he does, Jack Willoughby won’t be doing any gambling any time soon.”

“What?”

“You can thank me later. Perhaps over dinner at one of my restaurants? I’ll be in touch.”

With that, the phone went dead. Tom could see the fear on Rachel’s face as she slowly lowered the phone. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “He didn’t just say what I think he said, did he?”

Tom keyed his mike and spoke to the team staked out on the bottom floor. “Did you get that, Alex?”

The radio crackled as his best tech man replied, “Harvey’s working on it now. But I did just check in with Denton. Jack lost him a few miles from the house but he was able to pick up the signal from the car. He, uhh, well, he said….”

“Spit it out, Alex.”

“He just confirmed Jack’s car did freefall off the bridge… the good news is he landed in the bushes without overturning. The bad news is he can’t tell if Jack’s alive or dead. Traffic is starting to back up in the area so he’s trying to find a way down to him.”

Tom glanced up and saw the color draining from Rachel’s face as she processed Alex’s words. In the seconds that followed, he saw what his life with Rachel would have been like flash before his eyes and knew what her answer would have been.

Shaking off the feeling of utter loss, he reached for her hand. “Come on. Let’s go find Jack.”

*  *  *  *  *

I’ve got goosebumps for sure now. Wish it were Friday.

What do you think will happen next? Will they find Jack? Will he be alive? Leave a comment for a chance to win next week.

by Anna Doll

Rachel scooted up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Her heart raced. She had a pretty good idea what Jack and Tom were discussing, and she wished she could be the fly on the wall.

On second thought, that probably wasn’t a good idea. Tom was her superior, and fulfilled every dream she’d ever had about the man with whom she’d dreamed of living out the rest of her life. He was handsome, hard-working, considerate—the epitome of success. He treated her with respect and even though she had known he wanted her, he’d held out, waiting for her to make the first move.

And Jack was…well, Jack. What you saw was what you got with Jack. He was one of the best in their unit and even though he’d slipped up this time, it was not all his fault. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Their kiss resolved whatever doubts she’d been having about him. But they were in the middle of this job and the job came first. Whatever feelings they had for each other needed to be shelved until Frank Watson was behind bars.

Of course, that was easy to say and much harder to do, especially now that they were going to have to live together in this great big house with enough horizontal surfaces to conjure up a year of hot dreams. Not to mention the indoor swimming pool and hot tub, which Jack had teasingly referred to the day they moved in.

She slipped off her gown and corset, and then began the unpleasant process of unfastening the taped wires on her abdomen. No one had ever mentioned the pain associated with removing wires—she’d learned about them on the job. The marks left from the tape painted red splotches on her pale skin, making her look like a Picasso painting gone awry. So much for the glamour of undercover work.

“Nice view, Mrs. Willoughby.”

She yelped before grabbing a decorative pillow from the bed to cover her breasts and then turned her back on Jack. She glared at him over her shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me?”

He was propped against the bedroom doorframe, his jacket and tie gone, white shirt untucked. He looked a sight—blood-tinged welts from the pummeling to his face rearranged his near perfect features and she knew he had some broken ribs. All in a night’s work, she supposed.

“No problem, I’ll just wait here and enjoy the show. This view is actually just as enticing, I might add.” His voice dropped. “I especially like that cute little birthmark right below your left cheek.”

“Out.” She grabbed a bolster and placed it on her butt. “Now.”

“Aw, you just ruined it. I was hoping to have the memory of your beautiful—”

“Stop. Walk out the door now.” She could hear his footsteps moving toward her. “Jack, I mean it.”

“I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m not very good at taking orders.” His breath at the back of her neck ran shivers down her spine, inciting every nerve ending on her skin. “I’ve been waiting to do this all night. Do you know you have the sexiest spot right here?” He breathed a kiss at a spot just behind her ear. “Of course, it’s nothing compared to this spot,” he said, taking a nip at the space between her shoulder and neck. His finger circled slowly, ever so slowly, down the length of her arm, stopping at the juncture on the inside of her elbow.

She heard a growl and was afraid it hadn’t come from him.

“You like that?” His sultry voice and feathery touch was breaking down barriers faster than Jimmie Johnson on the backstretch at Daytona.

Somewhere, somehow, she needed to get a backbone and remember they had a job to do.

And this wasn’t it.

“I’m sorry.” She turned, using the pillow as a shield. “I guess I didn’t make myself clear. I believe your room is the master downstairs?”

He frowned and then attempted a wink that didn’t quite make it, considering his left eye was pretty much swollen shut. “I’m not sleepy yet.” His little grin reminded her of a little boy attempting to get out of going to bed early.

It took every ounce of strength she had not to reach out and welcome him into her arms. “Well, I am,” she retorted, moving away from him and toward the bathroom. “I don’t know about you, but this evening has really taken a lot out of me.”

“Yeah, well it hasn’t been all apple pie and ice cream for me, either, sweetheart.” He winced as he sat on the bed. “I’m heading over to the emergency room at Northside. I should be back in a couple of hours.”

“It’s Saturday night, Jack. You’ll be lucky to get seen in the next two hours.”

He ran both hands through his hair. “Yeah, well, I have an inside track,” he said with a grin. “Make sure to set the alarms, will you? I don’t want to worry about you while I’m gone.”

“I’m sure everything will be fine. Besides, how many agents do we have running surveillance in the basement?” Prior to moving them in, a full staff of household workers were hired to maintain the massive house and grounds. They must have nearly emptied the FBI office in Miami of all its Latina undercover agents, including the infamous Vargas sisters, Lulu and Lucia.

He laughed. “You’re right. But you never know.” He stood and walked slowly toward her. “I’m sorry about tonight.” His blue eyes, what she could see of them, seemed sincere.

“Stop.” She wouldn’t let him take the rap alone. “It was as much my fault as yours.”

His hand reached out to touch her and she flinched. Instead, he tucked it into his pants pocket. “I should have known better. From now on, it’s all business outside this room.”

She shook her head. “You’re right, Jack. It’s all business from now on. Everywhere. Including this room.” Stepping into the bathroom, she partially shut the door behind her and dropped the pillows before poking her head out. “Bye.”

“Spoken like a true fibbie.”

His lopsided smile pierced a sharp pain in her heart. She’d never forget that grin in a million years. “Later,” she said, slamming the door in his face. She leaned against the door as if the mere act could keep Jack from overwhelming her.

Too late for that, she thought.

Jack headed for the gourmet kitchen where he retrieved the keys to the Mercedes parked in the four-car attached garage. He could get used to this lifestyle, he thought, as he revved the engine and backed out. The massive house was situated on a large two-acre plot of prime land in Buckhead. It seemed to go on forever, but the tall and lush magnolias, oaks, and evergreens surrounding the structure gave it a homey, tucked-in feeling. The entire perimeter was fenced in by a stone wall and locked gate. He punched buttons until he found his favorite Atlanta country station. Trace Atkins’ gravelly voice came over the airwaves, singing one of his favorite songs.

“You’re gonna miss this,” he warbled off-key. Not hardly.

Racing down the driveway, he hit the button to unlock and open the gate and charged out onto West Paces Ferry. It was less than a fifteen-minute drive to the Northside Hospital emergency room, but it gave him plenty of time to think.

The discussion with Tom…actually, more of a directive…left him with two options—keep his hands off Rachel, or find another job. Since finding another position in law enforcement after being fired from the FBI would be quite difficult, he agreed to keep his relationship with Rachel strictly professional.

But they did have a cover, and that cover required them to act as husband and wife in public. So Tom couldn’t say jack about his being a loving and attentive husband when they were out and about.

He laughed to himself. He just needed to make sure they spent plenty of time in public.

Mulling over the details of the operation Tom had finally shared with him, he settled into the comfy, leather seat. Getting the twins involved was going to make this job very interesting, especially since they were going to be able to work from inside. They would wait for Watson to make the next move.

He made a right turn and headed up Glenridge. His face hurt like hell and he was having a difficult time taking deep breaths. But, damn, that kiss he shared with Rachel had been worth every punch he took.

Just as the Mercedes hit the bridge over Georgia 400, he heard a roar come up behind him. The headlights of the vehicle were on bright, temporarily blinding him. The Mercedes jerked as the vehicle plowed into the back of him before swerving as if to pass.

“Damned drunk drivers,” Jack said as he let off the gas. How the heck was he going to explain a rear-ended bumper on a sports car that could hit 120 miles an hour? If he thought he was in trouble with Tom before, he was wading in it now.

All he could see was the side of a black 4×4 pickup with oversized tires as it pulled alongside, and then slammed him, pushing the luxury car into the concrete abutment.

“What the—” He hit the brakes. “Oh, sh—” he said as he felt his car break through the wall and free-fall off the bridge.

* * * * *

Ahhhh! Who decided we had to wait for the next chapter? Oh, that was me. Okay. I’ll calm down now.

If your hands are stable enough to type, leave a comment below for a chance to win a prize! Can’t wait for Thursday! (Tune in tomorrow for our guest chef, Suzanna Frazier.)

by Anna Steffl

Jack rolled to his back. The black hole of a silencer pointed at his face.

Where was his gun?

Damn. Two feet away.

He glanced down the corridor Rachel had taken. She was peeling her shoulder from a door she’d just wedged open.

Get out of here, he tried to mentally warn her.

Rachel had gotten so far ahead of him she didn’t realize they were being tailed. She’d already turned the corner when he’d heard muffled footfalls behind him. Gun in hand, he’d instinctively twisted around.

Pain rocketed through his ribs and deep into his chest. He stumbled and pitched forward. His mind blanked white.

The next moment, Watson’s bodyguard, Dameon, was looming over him.

Damn.

Rachel’s high heels were clicking back down the corridor.

Dameon heard her shoes, too. A wicked, lopsided grin spread over his face.

Something told Jack that if he found enough breath to yell for Rachel to run, Watson’s bodyguard would shoot him, then lean around the corner and take out Rachel. He had to stay conscious, had to play Dameon’s game, until either Tom showed up or luck dealt a less sure-fire losing hand.

Rachel stopped short of entering the corridor where Dameon was. “Jack?” she whispered.

If he didn’t have a gun pointed at him, he’d have risked a look up her dress at those silky thighs. It flashed through his mind that if he was going to die, that wouldn’t be a bad last image to take with him.

“We have company,” Jack wheezed and darted a glance in the direction of the lower half of his body, then looked back to her.

Her eyes, though red and swollen from tears, narrowed into a severe focus. She wasn’t going to fall apart. There were some things he knew intuitively about Rachel. One was that she was self-made, just like he was. At their core was something hard, relentlessly determined to fight against all odds. The only difference was she was soft around the edges, a woman. She might cry, but he could trust her gut instincts to get the job done.

“Mrs. Willoughby, please join us,” Dameon said.

Rachel stepped into the corridor.

“Stop. Now don’t move,” Dameon barked at her. Then, keeping his gun aimed at Jack, he bent to pick up Jack’s gun. He gave it an appreciative nod. “Glock 23. Not bad, but lots of cops carry them. You a cop, Jack?”

“Doesn’t…pay…enough.”

“More than gambling,” Rachel grumbled.

Damn, she was good at keeping her cover.

Dameon snorted and shoved the Glock in the pocket of his black leather coat. “Now that we got that little matter taken care of, I’m supposed to tell you that Mr. Watson sends his apologies for leaving, but he has other guests to entertain. He hoped you’d understand.”

The phony politeness set Jack’s teeth on edge. These lowlifes always seemed to think that a bit of congeniality made their bullying civilized.

“That’s generous of Mr. Watson,” Rachel said tartly.

“What can I say?” Dameon shrugged. “Mr. Watson’s a generous man.” Waving the gun between them, he asked, “How much money you lose?”

“Two—” Jack began but started to cough.

“Two million,” Rachael said.

Dameon whistled. “That’s not chump change.” He raised one of his bristly black brows, pursed his fleshy lips, and shook his head. “Your wife deserves better, Mr. Willoughby. You’re making her do your dirty work after you lose money having a little fun. That’s not cool.”

Dameon jerked his chin for Rachel to join Jack. “I’m not a doctor, but it sounds like he punctured a lung,” he said to her. “You should get him to a hospital. It’s a terrible thing, his getting drunk and passing out in the bathroom, isn’t it?”

Rachel nodded.

Jack eased to his elbows. Was Watson going to let them go with merely a little roughing-up as a warning?

Rachel hooked her hands under his arms to help him sit. He eased his legs to the side, came to his knees, and staggered to a stand.

“Lift your arms,” Dameon said.

Jack started to raise his arms. The broken rib shifted. He groaned and stopped with his arms chest high.

Dameon barked, “All the way up.”

As he raised his arms, Jack clenched his jaw against the pain. Daemon patted him down roughly.

A different, soft touch on his coat sleeves guided his arms down.

“He’s done, Jack.” Rachel wrapped his arm over her shoulder.

Rachel scanned the area behind the house. Their limo, its engine purring at idle, was waiting in the drive leading to the five-car garage. No Watson. Maybe Tom was somewhere in the shadows, watching.

Victor, their limo driver and a fellow agent, opened the car door.

“Go ahead, Mrs. Willoughby,” Dameon said in his creepy, nice voice. “I’ll make sure her husband gets in,” he said to Victor.

Rachel slid across the seat while Dameon helped Jack in.

As the limo pulled away, Dameon waved them off like they were longtime buddies leaving a Super Bowl party. Rachel gripped the armrest. There was so much anger in her hands. She wanted to hurt Watson for what happened to Jack. Watson’s slavery ring was wrong to the core. It made her sick to her stomach to think of what the women had to endure. But what he’d done to Jack, right before her eyes, was personal. She was mad as hell—and she couldn’t do anything about it. They’d blown three years of work and plans A and B. There wasn’t any plan C.

The moment the limo lurched out of Watson’s drive, Victor’s head whipped around. Through the glass divider, his finger flew to his lips.

He was telling them the limo was bugged. They had to be careful what they said.

The electric motor of Jack’s window began to whir. “Need air,” he said, then tilted his head back in the headrest’s cradle. In the faint green glow of the instrument panel and orange flashes of streetlight, she saw that his eyes were fixed in an intense, inward-looking expression. She knew what he was thinking. He’d screwed it up. Kissing her had screwed it all up. She wanted to say something, but nothing seemed right. She bet he was thinking the kiss wasn’t worth the price he’d had to pay.

Victor turned down the street where the surveillance van was parked.

Tom. The gunshots in the basement corridor ricocheted through her memory. Her heart stopped. Tom could still be back there. She wanted to ask Victor if he’d heard anything, but she couldn’t.

Her cell phone rang. She flipped it open. Unknown number. Should she answer? It might make Watson more suspicious if she didn’t.

“Hello?”

“Rachel, darlin’.” Frank’s smarmy sweet accent sickened her. Rachel mouthed his name to Jack.

“That husband of yours likes to gamble,” Watson said. “Would he up the stakes to 2.5 million?”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s pretend tonight went just as you and your husband planned. Just as I promised, I’m going to take care of those two little problems you told me about. Wednesday at midnight I want to see you, and your two little problems, at 385 Griffin Street. A black Lexus will be waiting for y’all. If your husband is smart, he’ll follow us. If he’s really smart, he’ll tell Santos he has something worth his while to see. In person.”

“We’ll try.” Rachel was vaguely aware the limo had stopped, but she had to concentrate on the call.

“You better do more than try, Rachel. Santos isn’t a gentleman like me. I worry what he’ll do to you if he finds out how tonight really went. I said I’d take care of you, darlin’. I meant it.”

The call disconnected.

“What did…he want?” Jack asked.

“Santos.”

A smirk spread over Jack’s face.

They had a plan C.

Suddenly Jack’s smile hardened into a grimace. He was looking past her.

Rachel swiveled in her seat.

Tom was glaring in through her window.

Relief that he was fine, mixed with alarm at his ticked-off expression, flooded through her.

Holding a finger to his lips, Tom opened the door and motioned her out. He reached behind her headrest and pulled out a cell phone. His thumb pressed over its microphone. “Anyone say anything to bust your cover?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Victor warned us.” Relieved that Tom was fine and hadn’t been shot, she wanted to hug him. But the Vargas sisters and Victor were watching. All she could do was put her hand on his arm. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt coming in for us.”

“We never went in. We were about to when they ordered the limo around back. One of Watson’s men slipped Victor a tip to look the other way while they hid the phone. I figured they were going to let you go.” Tom motioned to the van. “Lucinda told me about what happened in the basement. Watson must have believed your Santos story.” He held up the phone, his thumb still blocking their conversation. “He wanted to make sure, though.”

“You didn’t go in? Who were they shooting at in the corridor?” Rachel wondered aloud.

“You,” Jack said from behind her. “Frank was furious at…you. He never stopped looking at you. When he saw us—”

“What the hell did he see, Jack?” Tom snapped.

Shit. Tom knew about the kiss. He must have heard them on the wire.

“Excuse me,” Tom said. “I have something to say to our partner.” He slid into the limo and slammed the door behind him.

Rachel crossed her arms tight over her chest and clutched the tops of her bare arms.

Looking at Tom, guilt stabbed at her stomach.

Looking at Jack, her heart melted. His eyes glinted with the same steeliness as when he’d faced Frank’s inquisition.

* * * * *

Wow. Things are heating up in more ways than one!

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