Mastered By The Mavericks(62)

"Well, fuck."

It had been close to torture, tasting her so deeply that he sprung a  boner worthy of the Longhorn State itself. Then inhaling her with all  the force in his lungs, knowing all he'd breathe in for hours would be  her wildflower scent. And then, oh fuck, watching her tuck a hand down  her cleavage until he had to glance away for a long second.

Hell. Did she have to linger about it, too?

Well, yeah … since she was doing it to secure the delicate necklace he and  Rhett had just given her, with its three golden charms dangling off the  chain: a ballet shoe bracketed by two daggers. The gift shop next to  the motel had nothing else representing Vikings and pirates, so the  daggers had to do. Before tucking the jewelry in, she kissed the charms  with tears shimmering on her own lashes-a moment that gutted even Rhett.  He'd closed the door to the sporty rental coupe they'd gotten her  exclusively for the op, just in case Adler had learned the plates for  the two SUV rentals already, and ripped his stinging glare at Rhett, one  adamant message searing out. Don't you dare start, too.

Now, there was no time to even think about slinging razzes at each  other. Everything his life had been-the missions, the team, the  "roadhouse", and even stupid shit like bills and needing to get new  tires for his truck-was all banished behind what his life was now: the  demand of being in this moment. The necessity of focusing thoroughly on  the video being fed through the palm-sized monitor in Rhett's hands, as  well as the tinny audio filling his right ear. Both were made possible  by a camera El had rigged into a broach and scarf for Brynn's outfit,  designed to be worn so the broach hit just the right spot in her  gorgeous cleavage. The placement ensured that they received clear  feeds-and Adler's unbridled attention. Sure as hell had been the case  when Rhett installed the device on her-and Reb had found several  convenient ways to "help out."

By the time they'd finished, there'd been more than enough one-liners  from every soldier in the motel room to confirm one truth: Shay hadn't  kept close to the vest with his observation about the new energy between  the three of them. So much the better, as far as Reb was concerned. Now  every fucker in the group would be even more on their game about  getting Zoe and Brynna out of that building alive.

Nothing was more important than that.

Nothing.

Rebel's throat tightened-again-from his devotion to the vow. It was the  only thing keeping his breath steady and his body utterly still as he  and Rhett waited in the shadows and tall grass beneath a huge oak tree,  located about fifty yards from the fence he'd hurdled four nights ago.  About the same distance to the left, he knew Garrett and Zeke had  belly-crawled their way behind a small storage shed. To the right,  somewhere behind a large copse of kidneywood and esperanza, was Kell,  possibly saddled with the hardest task of them all: keeping Shay  sane-and contained-until Brynna worked her guile on Homer Adler.

The very reason he was hating the whole "sane and contained" thing right now.

The red ants in his blood turned to cockroaches of disgust, burrowing  deeper every time that vermin dropped his beady eyes to Brynn's breasts.  That meant the little fuckers were mighty busy-like right now, as Adler  added a greasy smirk to his gawk.

"So," he drawled, "Miss Diamond … where, exactly, did you say you were from?"

"Please." Brynn's sultry voice didn't do anything to calm the roaches.  "Call me Valentina." Nor did her insistence on using a porn star name,  telling them it would only entice Adler more. She'd been glaringly  right, damn it. Men really were pigs. "And I'm originally from Iowa,  sir. Just a little farm out in the middle of nowhere, where the corn's  as high as an elephant's eye."

"And they grow gorgeous goddesses as well as they grow those fine crops."                       
       
           



       

Brynna's giggle tinkled through Reb's earpiece. The flirty sound was as  fake as the double eyelashes she'd plastered on back at the motel. So  far, her act seemed to be working. Thank fuck.

But if it slipped, he was ready.

Put together right, the contents of the pack at his side were enough to blow up the whole east side of Austin.

"Oh, Mr. Adler. You have such a golden tongue."

On the little monitor, Adler scooted out from behind a broad desk. "You have no idea how golden, baby."

"Good girl." Rhett muttered it into his comm link as the image rushed  by, indicating she'd scooted free from the man's advance. She was  patched into him and everyone else on the team through a tiny audio bud  adhered to the inside of her ear. "You're doing good, sweetheart. Keep  reeling and releasing. That's it."

"Mmmm." Her tone was laced with double meaning: the concurrence with  Rhett and her flirtation with Adler. "Naughty," she went on, answered by  a tight scowl from the scientist. "You know the rule, Mr. Adler.  Business before pleasure." A jerk of the image-she'd tugged her blouse  back into place-before she dipped her tone back into seductive  territory. "And you did promise me a tour. I'm not going to let you  forget that. I'll be the talk of the office at Peach Pharmaceuticals. A  grand tour of Homer Adler's prestigious labs."

Adler leaned on the desk, folding his arms in a smarmy preen. "I had no idea I was so notable."

"Very notable," Brynn crooned.

"Goodness." He spread his bony legs a little-then a lot. "I'm sorry I  don't have a signed photo or something. A … souvenir of sorts."

Brynna cleared her throat, clearly in place of having to comment on the  "souvenir" he referred to. "Maybe we'll find some­thing … interest­ing … on  the tour."

Rebel couldn't tamp a low growl. "A little too convincing, minette-which  means it was fucking perfect. Now get him out of that damn office,  before he decides the undersides of those shoes might be more  interesting than the top."

"Christ," Rhett grumbled. "Thanks for that mental."

"Left." The interjection on the line told them both to shut up at once.  Even in hushed tones, Zeke's voice packed one hell of a commanding  baritone. "You want to make him go left, Little B." He used the honorary  call-sign they'd all come up with for her. "Hawk just completed the  close-quarter thermography on the building. There's a room at the end of  the hall, bottom floor, with a signature reading a lot like a petite  pregnant woman."

Rebel traded an incredulous glare with Rhett, who barked, "How the fuck did you get that reading?"

Garrett's trademark snort burst on the line. "With the help of Mr. Tumbleweed."

"Well, shit." Sure enough, no more than twenty feet from the storage  hut, a tumbleweed the size of a baby rhino inched across the dusty  ground. The two guards bracketing the loading dock, as well as the goon  strolling the yard, actually looked at the thing three times each and  never noticed that it slid instead of-well-tumbled. Thank God for the  late afternoon breeze. And Mr. Tumbleweed. "Great job, Hawk. Little B,  you copy that intel?"

Brynn's phony sneeze rang in his ear: their established code for a yes.

On the screen in Rhett's palm, Adler turned right.

Damn it.

"Oh, poo." A descending hitch of the camera. The woman was going for  broke on the cleavage contingency plan. "We've already been that  direction. What's over here?" A swing back to the left-down a long,  nondescript hallway-with no discernible door at the end.

"What the fuck?" Rhett rasped.

"No shit," Rebel concurred.

"What's going on?" Shay broke in.

Rebel joined Rhett in gaping at the footage Brynn captured for them,  showing the entire length of the hallway. The images showed up as a  weird mix of green tones due to the tint from the passage's fluorescent  lights, renewing the permit for the acid party churning in Reb's gut.

Finally he said, "You solid on that intel about the room on this hall, Hawk?"

Garrett grunted. "As sure about it as my own nuts."

"This hall?"

"For fuck's sake, Stafford."

Rebel shot a long huff. "For fuck's sake yourself. There are no doors to the damn thing."

"What?"

"We're looking right at the feed," Rhett rejoined. "There are a couple  of bathrooms three-quarters down the corridor, and no other portals  beyond that. At the end, the hall turns to the left without another  interruption."                       
       
           



       

Rebel cocked his head toward his friend. Rhett's gaze was jolted with  the same new comprehension. "Unless … the room is accessed differently."