Midnight Action Page 3

  It took him five minutes to drive through the three enormous gates that blocked off the compound from the road. Each one required a different access code for the security panel, and a glance at the cameras mounted on the chain-link fences. One of the two security men who worked around the clock buzzed him in each time, and when he finally reached the large courtyard in front of the main house, he was starting to wonder whether this new security protocol of his might be overkill.

  The thought died the second he spotted the out-of-place Mercedes parked next to Kane’s silver Escalade.

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at the sleek black car. Almost instantly, wariness flooded his gut and stiffened his shoulders.

  Son of a bitch. Either Sully and Liam had brought a late-night visitor onto the property, or...

  His hands curled into fists over the steering wheel. Fuck. The alternative was grating as hell, and he suddenly found himself praying that his boys had broken the rules and invited a woman over. But he knew better.

  And the ominous feeling that had been prickling his spine ever since he’d left Maya’s made sense now.

  Perfect fucking sense.

  Squaring his jaw, he stalked into the three-story house, paused in the cavernous parlor to rearm the alarm, then strode purposefully toward the living room. Light spilled out from beneath the heavy oak doors, and the soft murmur of voices reached his ears.

  He pushed open the doors, paying no attention to the three chocolate brown Labrador retrievers that scurried up to him.

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  Abby Sinclair and Kane Woodland glanced up from their perch on the couch. The couple was snuggled together under a red afghan, looking too damn calm, considering the toxic presence they’d allowed into the house. The blanket hid Abby’s growing baby bump, which, if he were being honest, was a relief not to see. Abby was almost five months pregnant, and each time Morgan noticed the rounded curve of her belly, he was unsettled as hell.

  He couldn’t imagine a baby living in this house amid a group of highly skilled operatives, but Abby and Kane hadn’t discussed their plans with him yet. He wasn’t sure if they planned to raise the kid here or find a place of their own. Though he was kinda hoping they’d choose the latter.

  “You’re home earlier than usual,” Kane remarked.

  He repeated himself. “Where is she?”

  Abby ran a hand through her long red hair, her voice quiet and composed. “Out back.”

  Without another word, Morgan ignored the excited dogs still nipping at his heels and marched off. The massive screened-in porch at the back of the house offered access to the backyard, and when he emerged onto the endless stone terrace and approached the railing, he instantly spotted their unwelcome visitor.

  She wasn’t alone. Derek “D” Pratt was with her, the two of them standing side by side near the kidney-shaped swimming pool. Although a foot of distance separated them and neither one was talking, their body language didn’t reveal an ounce of aggression. If anything, they seemed utterly relaxed standing there together.

  The anger that flooded Morgan’s insides was both expected and infuriating.

  Had she come here to see D?

  It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might be here for someone other than him, and the strange vise of possessiveness that squeezed his throat only pissed him off even more.

  “Evening, Jim. Are you going to join us, or just lurk there in the shadows?”

  Her mocking voice wafted toward him in the balmy night air. She hadn’t even glanced his way, yet she’d known he was up at the railing, and the evidence of her razor-sharp senses was a reminder that he couldn’t let his guard down around this woman. Ever. She was a threat. Had been for years, and probably always would be.

  As he descended the stone steps, he steeled himself for this latest reunion. Each time they crossed paths, he went through the same old routine. Stayed on the alert, masked his emotions, armed himself for the inevitable showdown. He never knew what to expect with Noelle, except for one constant—her unceasing attempts to unnerve him.

  If he were being honest, she succeeded more often than not.

  Damned if he’d ever admit it to her, though.

  “Why are you here?” he muttered when he reached the couple.

  Couple. Goddamn it. The thought made him want to...Fuck, he didn’t even know. Throw up? Shoot them down like rabid dogs? Laugh?

  D seemed to be reading his mind as the two men locked eyes. The big, tattooed mercenary took a quick drag of his cigarette before breaking eye contact, then headed over to the poolside table to put out his smoke.

  “Nice catching up with you, honey,” Noelle drawled to D’s retreating back.

  The other man didn’t turn around, just kept walking, but Morgan noticed those broad shoulders stiffen for a beat. He watched as D went up to the terrace, noting the power and confidence in the man’s stride. D was a warrior, a terrifying force to be reckoned with, and for a moment, the image of that muscular body tangled with Noelle’s petite one between the sheets flashed in Morgan’s head.

  His hands involuntarily curled into fists, but he tamped down the anger and resentment that rose in his throat, and finally turned to face Noelle.

  “Why are you here?” he asked again.

  Her pale blue eyes gleamed in the light glowing from the pool. “Just stopped by to say hello to an old lover, but you seem to have scared him off.”

  Morgan jerked his thumb in the direction D had gone. “He went thataway.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. “Aw, I’m just messing with you, Jim. You know exactly which ex-lover I came to see.”

  Her laughter was like a razor blade scraping a chalkboard. Cold, humorless, deadly.

  “What do you want, Noelle?”

  “You look good, Jim.”

  “What do you want, Noelle?”

  She blinked innocently. “You’re not going to return the compliment?”

  He kept his gaze locked with hers, despite the fact that looking at her took a major toll on him. She was too beautiful. Too fucking beautiful, with her exquisite face, those big blue eyes, the perfect rosy lips. Her long hair was the color of spun gold, and he knew firsthand that it was silky to the touch.

  And her body...it was goddamn sin. Endless curves hugged by black leather pants and a bloodred tank top, a body designed to make a man think of pure, carnal fucking.

  Noelle’s beauty was beyond compare, and that only stoked the hatred burning like lava in his gut. She looked like an angel, but she had a devil’s heart. She was poison, and he refused to utter a single complimentary word to her, even as his hard-on strained against his zipper in salute to all her splendor.

  “Fine.” She gave a mock pout. “I guess pleasantries aren’t really our style, huh? Let’s get right to business.”

  He shot her a pointed look. “What favor do you need this time?”

  She was positively beaming now. “Oh, baby, this time the favor’s all yours.”

  As a cloud of suspicion floated through him, he reached for the bottom of his shirt and yanked it right over his head.

  Noelle’s gaze fastened on his bare chest, her head tilting to the side. “What are you doing?”

  He unzipped his pants and let them drop to the concrete pool deck. “Going for a swim,” he answered in a bored tone.

  His boxers came off next, and Noelle’s slight hitch of breath confirmed that she noticed his raging hard-on.

  It was kind of hard to miss.

  “You don’t want to know what I mean by that?” Those blue eyes remained glued to his cock, but she didn’t comment on his state of arousal.

  Probably because she knew damn well the erection had nothing to do with lust. This was an anger-fueled boner, pure and simple.

  He arched a brow at her. “I’ll hear you out when
I’m good and ready. Right now, I feel like a swim.”

  Brushing past her, Morgan headed for the deep end, hopped on the diving board, and dove cleanly into the warm water. The moment he was fully submerged, his head began to clear. Soon the volatile emotions Noelle always managed to elicit in him had reduced to a manageable degree.

  When he finally poked his head out, he saw that she’d sat down on one of the lounge chairs. Her annoyed expression brought a surge of satisfaction to his blood and a burst of energy that had him doing laps.

  He’d do twenty-five, just to stir up her irritation. Make her wait, watch her stew. It was the same old game they always played. See who could piss off the other one more. Who could inflict more pain, cause more destruction.

  Morgan sliced through the water in a clean crawl stroke, wishing he could see her face. But no biggie, because he could clearly envision her displeasure, picture the scowl twisting her lips.

  Except...bad idea, thinking about her lips. That only triggered the unwelcome memory of what he’d done the last time they’d been alone together. Not two months ago, when she’d helped the team out in Cairo, but on the job in Belarus earlier that year, when he’d...

  Kissed her.

  Goddamn it, he’d kissed the bitch.

  You felt nothing.

  Right, he’d felt nothing. Nada. Zip. It had just been a test, a need to confirm that there was nothing between them.

  Absolutely frickin’ nothing.

  He forced the memory away and concentrated on counting out his laps. Six. Seven. Ten. Fourteen. His arms burned from the brisk pace he’d set, but he preferred the pain to the other burn he felt around Noelle.

  Another glance at the deck revealed the bitter grimace on her face. Good. Let her sulk. He’d spent years thinking of ways to punish her and make her suffer, but the woman was a block of ice, totally impenetrable. Unless she was being ignored—that was when the wall of indifference crumbled, her desire for power and recognition trumping her need to conceal her emotions.

  And so he kept swimming, knowing the longer he made her wait, the faster her carefully composed mask would unravel.

  Times like these, when he was imagining new ways of hurting her, it was impossible to believe that he’d ever loved this woman with all his heart.

  Chapter 2

  “Why is Morgan skinny-dipping in our pool?” was the first thing Sullivan Port demanded after he’d strolled into the room without knocking.

  Liam Macgregor glanced up from the computer screen. “That’s news to me. But please tell me he’s not in there alone, ’cause that’s just weird.”

  Sullivan collapsed in the armchair across from the bed as if his long legs could no longer support his weight. “He’s in the pool alone, but he’s got an audience. She kinda looks like she wants to murder him, though.”

  Closing the laptop, Liam leaned his head back on the mountain of decorative pillows their housekeeper liked to pile on his bed. No matter how many times he told Inna that he despised all those damn pillows, every night when he entered his bedroom, the Mount Everest of fluffiness was back on the king-size. Damn Russian females—they were a stubborn lot—that was for sure.

  He placed the computer on the end table and raked a hand through his hair, all the while fighting a yawn. It was almost midnight, and he’d had a long day. Spent most of it in the gym working out with D, and then he, Ethan, and Juliet had gone for a hike in the mountains bordering the compound. Sullivan had been out all night, and even if he hadn’t sent Liam a text with a heads-up about his plans, it would’ve been easy to figure out how he’d passed the time.

  Liam could always tell when his buddy had gotten good and laid, and at the moment, the guy was exhibiting some serious post-fucking symptoms. Rumpled blond hair, sated gray eyes, and a hundred and eighty pounds of sheer laziness. Sully’s six-foot-three frame had practically melted into the chair, as if he didn’t have the energy to move a single muscle.

  It didn’t escape Liam that he could’ve been feeling the same sexual satisfaction right about now, if only he’d accepted Sully’s invitation to partake in the fun. In the year and a half since he’d joined Jim Morgan’s team, he and Sully had been joined at the hip, indulging in more threesomes than he could keep track of.

  Not lately, though. They hadn’t shared a woman in more than a month. Not because Sully didn’t ask him anymore—he did, every damn time—but lately Liam found himself reluctant to join in on the sexual escapades.

  Ever since that last time, when...

  When nothing.

  He swiftly banished the thought, focusing instead on the curious look Sullivan shot him.

  “You really didn’t know she was here?”

  Liam frowned at his teammate. “Who?”

  “Noelle. I ran into Abby in the hall and she said her former boss showed up about an hour ago.”

  “I’ve been up here all night. I had no clue the Queen of Assassins was visiting.”

  “Well, she is. And trust me, mate, Morgan’s not happy about it. He’s doing a real angry-looking crawl.”

  Liam snickered. “Yeah, I’m sure you could tell his mood based on his swimming stroke.”

  “Trust me,” Sully repeated.

  “So what does she want?”

  “Fuck if I know. Maybe one of her crazy operatives needs rescuing again.”

  “Doubt it. Most of her chameleons live with us now,” Liam grumbled. “Or in Isabel’s case, with Trev in Vermont.”

  “Good point.” Sully released an exaggerated sigh. “Why do those blokes get all the breaks? I’d kill to sleep with one of her girls.”

  Liam couldn’t disagree. Sometimes he wondered if Noelle’s employment contracts contained a clause that said all her assassins had to be drop-dead gorgeous. Because so far, the ones Liam had met absolutely fit that bill. Abby, Isabel, and Juliet were so hot it was almost criminal, and from what Juliet had told him, the others were easy on the eyes too. Of course they were all deadly as hell too, so maybe it was a good thing he wasn’t getting jiggy with one of Noelle’s operatives.

  Who wanted to sleep with a woman who was capable of murdering you in your sleep?

  He’d much rather stick to the nonlethal chicks he met at the bars, thank you very much.

  “You say that as if you’re not getting any,” Liam said mockingly. “And yet we both know you didn’t spend the night alone. Or the day. What—are you practicing for a marathon?”

  Sullivan’s silver eyes twinkled. “Bloody right. Stella and I beat my record today—seven times.”

  “Stella...Have I met her?”

  His buddy snorted. “We hooked up with her sister a few months ago.”

  “Shit. Right.” A laugh flew out. “You’re such a whore, bro. Just had to make a move on the sister, huh?”

  “Uh-uh, she made the move,” Sully said smugly. “What was I s’posed to do, turn her down? That’d break her heart.”

  Liam couldn’t help but laugh again. Truth was, he appreciated Sullivan’s open attitude toward sex. Until he’d become friends with the cocky Australian, he’d never known anyone with that reckless anything-goes mentality.

  “Anyway, it’s a bloody shame you bailed today. You woulda had fun.”

  Liam didn’t doubt it. He always had fun with Sullivan.

  But...maybe it was too much fun.

  Their sexual antics had begun to distract him lately, even confuse him, if he were being honest. And he valued their friendship way too much to watch it crash and burn because of some weird, complicated tension he couldn’t even explain.

  Liam’s eight-year stint in the DEA had made it impossible to form any lasting friendships. He’d been in deep cover for most of his career, cozying up to slimebag drug dealers and kingpins in order to take them down. A damn lonely way to live, but the extent of his loneliness hadn’t truly sunk in until after
he’d gone private and hooked up with Morgan. The easy camaraderie he’d witnessed among Morgan’s men had been a major reason why he’d joined the crew full-time, and once he’d become ingrained in a team, he’d realized just how much it sucked to work alone.

  To be alone.

  His friendship with Sullivan Port, girly as it sounded, meant a lot to him. He’d never connected with another guy the way he connected with Sully. The two of them could read each other’s minds, and with the rest of Morgan’s men dropping like flies into commitment territory, Liam and Sully were among the few remaining hound dogs of the bunch.

  “Yeah...sorry,” he told Sullivan, keeping his tone vague. “I had a shit ton of e-mail to answer.”

  “Your family’s on your case again, eh?”

  He sighed. “Yup. But that’s what happens when you come from an Irish Catholic clan. Eight kids, for fuck’s sake. I don’t know what my folks were thinking.”

  “Ah, mate, you’re lucky. You’d hate being an only child, not to mention an orphan.”

  Liam gulped at the wistful note in Sullivan’s voice, suddenly feeling like a total ass for complaining about his family. He’d been raised by parents who adored him, and surrounded by seven boisterous siblings who always had his back, while Sully had spent his entire childhood in foster homes. Sometimes he forgot that, especially since Sullivan didn’t talk about his upbringing often.

  “Anyhoo,” his teammate hurried on before Liam could say another word, “wanna go downstairs and spy on the boss?”

  “Nah. I don’t feel like being murdered tonight.”

  That got him a loud laugh. “Another good point. Fine. Let’s watch a movie, then. I don’t feel like going to bed yet.”

  He hesitated, then said, “Pass. I’m frickin’ exhausted.”

  “Jeez, Boston, you’re such a bloody pansy.” Rolling his eyes, Sullivan heaved himself out of the chair and rose to his full height. “If you change your mind, I’m down in the theater.”

  “I won’t. I’m ready to collapse.”