Bulletproof Seal

“I was blinded by rage when I found out you were the sniper on that hill, but I’d already figured any navy SEAL sniper worth his salt would’ve been able to take me out before dropping those soldiers—especially you.” She held up one finger. “But the fact that you took the assignment enraged me just the same.”

“I’m sorry, Rikki. If I had to do it all over again...”

“You’d do the exact same thing. Duty and country.” She crouched down and picked up the handcuffs, then snapped them in their holder on her belt. She had no intention of leaving them here for Alice.

“I won’t be staying in New Orleans long, and you can get back to doing whatever it was you were doing.” She wrapped her fingers around the neck of her beer bottle on the kitchen counter and tipped it back and forth. “But if you’re getting deployed again soon, I suggest you clean up your act, sailor.”

“Where are you off to next? You can stay here until you leave.”

She snorted. “Not a good idea. Take care of yourself, Quinn.”

She held out her hand for a shake again. This time he took it, but instead of squeezing her hand, he cinched his fingers around her wrist and rotated her hand around. He pressed his lips against the center of her palm. “I’m glad you’re alive, Rikki. Makes the world a whole helluva lot more bearable.”

She pulled away from him and crossed the room to the front door. As she grasped the handle, she tried to think of some flip, clever way to say goodbye, but her throat closed and her bottom lip trembled.

In the end, Rikki slipped out the door without another word or backward glance.

The sultry night air pressed against her as she loped along the streets not far from the French Quarter. She ducked into a clump of bushes in a park a few blocks from Quinn’s apartment and pulled out her scooter.

Just after midnight, the bars would still be open, and Rikki had another appointment at the Gator Lounge before she settled her business in this city. Before she left Quinn—maybe for good this time.

She hopped on the electric scooter and motored back toward the lights and action of downtown.

One quick glance over her shoulder, and she let out a sigh of relief. Nobody had followed her. Why would anyone be following her? As far as the CIA knew, a North Korean soldier had shot her dead in the DMZ and a trustworthy navy SEAL had witnessed her death.

She could trust Quinn not to out her. Besides, if he did and the CIA brought her in, he’d be going down with her. She’d make sure of that.

Traffic got heavier as she got closer to the French Quarter. She kept her eye on the side mirror to monitor anything unusual behind her, and would slip between cars if someone seemed to be following too closely or for too long.

When she reached the streets of the French Quarter, still teeming with tourists, she located the bar and then stashed the scooter on a side street. She slid from the seat and ran her fingers through her hair. Her contact had indicated the bar had a casual atmosphere, but she didn’t want to look like she’d just come in from a horse ride.

She ducked to peer into the side-view mirror and pulled a lipstick from the purse strapped across her body. She hadn’t thought to primp before accosting Quinn in his apartment, but then she hadn’t thought much at all about what she wanted to accomplish by seeing him.

To make sure the heat still blazed between them? Check. To see if he still had a body that could weaken her knees? Check. To find out if her presence would make him happy? Check.

She had to admit to herself that seeing him...disheveled had given her a small, petty sense of pleasure. It had also backed up his claim that he’d had a change of heart about shooting her. Quinn wouldn’t be drinking if something weren’t troubling him.

Now that she’d confirmed that, she’d have to tell him about Bella. He deserved to know about his daughter, even though he’d never mentioned wanting children to her.

She straightened up and pulled her blouse over the gun in her waistband. She didn’t expect trouble from her contact, but she had to be prepared for anything. Ariel had vouched for him, and that was good enough for Rikki.

She’d know her guy by his blue Dodgers cap in a city with no pro baseball team. Rikki joined the throng of tourists still crowding Bourbon Street after midnight, and quickened her pace when she saw the street for the bar up ahead.

Someone plowed into her and she spun around, her hand hovering at her waist. The drunk who’d bumped her gave her a sloppy smile and raised his drink. She stepped to the side and rounded the next corner. A green neon sign announced the Gator Lounge, and Rikki surveyed the pedestrians behind her before ducking inside the darkness.

She shivered as the air-conditioning hit her warm skin. She’d overdressed for the heat and humidity in jeans, a blouse and tennies, but shorts and a T wouldn’t have worked for breaking into Quinn’s place and carrying a weapon and cuffs.

Her gaze flickered across the small cocktail tables and then rested on the back of a man seated at the bar, a blue baseball cap on his head.

Rikki scooped in a breath and threaded her way through the tables. As she hopped onto the stool next to her contact, she waved at the bartender.

“What can I getcha?” The bartender slapped a napkin on the bar in front of her.

“Light beer, no glass.” She slid a glance to her right to see if her words registered with the man in the Dodgers hat.

She waited for his prearranged response—a folding of all four corners of his napkin.

He picked at the label on his beer bottle with his fingernail.

She held her breath.

The bartender placed her beer on the napkin. “Three dollars. Running a tab?”

“No.” Her eyes glued to her contact’s cocktail napkin, she unzipped the front compartment of her purse and pulled out a five.

Finally the man beside her dipped his head. “I have what you want, but who are you?”

The question had her convulsively clenching her fist around the bill in her hand. That was not part of the deal. He wasn’t supposed to ask any questions. He was supposed to hand over a flash drive with information—after folding the damned corners of his napkin.

She turned toward him and smiled sweetly. “You can’t possibly have what I want...sugar. And who the hell are you?”

He jerked his thumb upward, hitting the bill of his cap.

Rikki’s heart stuttered. None of this made sense. He had half of the plan right, and it couldn’t be just a coincidence. Who else would be wearing a Dodgers cap in this particular bar in New Orleans at this exact time?

Her laugh tinkled as she creased her money and tucked it beneath a candle. “Sorry, I’m no Dodgers fan. In fact, I don’t even like baseball.”

Wedging one foot on the floor, she took a quick gulp of her beer. She needed to abandon this rendezvous—and fast.

As she shoved herself to her feet, the man grabbed her wrist and growled in her ear, “I have a gun pointed at your ribs. Make a move, and I’ll take you down.”

Chapter Four (#ud8f13364-d3f5-57ea-824a-f2159eb7c65d)

Quinn plowed through the crowd of people on Bourbon Street, stepping on a few toes and upsetting a few drinks. The Gator Lounge occupied a side street, and he made for the corner of that street like a heat-seeking missile.

Before he stepped through the front door of the bar, he tugged his baseball cap low on his forehead. If Rikki made him as soon as he walked into the bar, he’d lose his chance to find out what business she had in New Orleans. He might lose his chance of ever seeing her again.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he hunched his shoulders and dipped his head. Two steps into the bar, he scanned it quickly, and his heart jumped in his chest.

His gaze locked onto Rikki and a man in a blue cap heading for the back of the bar. Quinn had frequented enough bars in the past few months to know this one led to an alley running behind it. Rikki and her companion were headed either for the restrooms or out the back door. Either way, he’d be in the vicinity to intercept them.

He backed out of the Gator Lounge and jogged through a small courtyard between buildings. He hugged the side of the bar and poked his head around the corner into the alley.

The blood in his veins ran cold as he watched the man propel Rikki in front of him—by force. Every line in her body screamed that she didn’t want to be in his company or be going anywhere with him.

Plenty of people had seeped into this alley off the main street, and Quinn joined their ranks, edging closer to Rikki and her abductor.

The guy in the cap seemed distracted. He didn’t notice the pedestrians who passed by him and Rikki, wasn’t expecting any kind of intervention—and that was the way Quinn liked it.