For Her Protection

Luke swallowed hard and forced himself to look away from her mouth. One thing was abundantly clear. He still felt like a guy—a guy who hadn’t slept with a woman in…forever. Her perfectly shaped lips were parted, her warm breath fanned the side of his neck. Her mouth was soft and pink and ready…

He jerked his thoughts away. He’d better create some distance and quick, before his body took over and did something stupid on his behalf. He slid noiselessly from the bed. Jillian sighed in her sleep and burrowed down under the covers. Forcing himself to refocus, he adjusted his towel and limped into the bathroom. It was time for a security check. And maybe a brisk walk in the cool morning air to clear his head.

The perimeter was secure. The car appeared untouched. He’d shimmied underneath, just to be sure, spending twenty minutes making certain they were safe. But something was off. His gut thrummed with an uneasy sense of warning. Luke just couldn’t figure out why.

He scratched his two-day growth of beard and sighed. Maybe it was him. He’d had trouble settling in since he’d arrived from the D.C. office. Usually he fell into the role without a problem, adapted and blended in with his new territory. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out for the Southern mentality. It was too peaceful down here, too sleepy. Nothing was as it seemed. There were too many undercurrents. On the surface, things appeared civilized and tidy, while everything underneath had gone to rot. Even the drug deals he’d made held an air of casualness, of laid-back Southern hospitality that had seemed unfamiliar.

He’d been edgy since the op started a month ago. And he’d worked too many years off his intuition, it had saved his hide too many times to question the feeling. He was highly trained, certainly. But it went deeper than that. Luke had taken that training and internalized it, until it became so ingrained it was second nature. He’d learned to never discount his gut. And his gut told him something was wrong.

He pushed off the stucco wall where he leaned, careful to avoid the huge puddle of water that had accumulated under the wheezing air conditioner. The parking lot was quiet, dark and cool, even the birds still silent despite the pink slivers of dawn that crept through the trees on the far side of the lot. He’d quietly checked each motel unit, just in case. There were only seven cars in the lot. And judging by the whine of the air conditioners, there were seven rooms accounted for.

“Maybe some coffee will help,” he muttered. There’d been a hot plate in the office when he’d registered the day before and the sign had claimed the office was open 24/7. He just hoped they actually brewed a fresh pot each day. He walked silently around the L-shaped motel, cautious when he passed a room where the AC was running. Occupied units. He heard the steady drip of water as he slipped by each one.

He winced when a cow bell clanged noisily against the office door and he reached up to silence it. His head already ached from the musty, permeating smell of this dump. The night clerk must’ve decided on a nap because the front counter was quiet. He sniffed the air as he headed across the lobby. Coffee didn’t smell scorched. He poured a second cup for Jilly and paused to tuck some stale-looking cookies into a napkin. There wouldn’t be time for the kids to eat breakfast.

He’d already kicked himself for sleeping the whole night. As soon as he got back, he was gonna wake ’em all up. Not knowing what had happened to Sloan was driving him crazy. Had the team managed to arrest him? Why hadn’t he been able to reach Murphy? Something about the bust was eating away at him. It was almost as though Sloan had been expecting him—or worse. As though he’d been expecting narcs.

His senses were screaming to make some tracks. He wanted out of here, and fast. He crammed the napkin into his shirt pocket and felt for the gun hidden at the small of his back. He hesitated. If he carried coffee to Jilly, his hands would be full. He wouldn’t be able to reach for his gun. Of course, if he didn’t bring her coffee he’d be labeled insensitive, or some other female variation of cad. “Insensitive” had been one of Linda’s favorites.

Either way, he’d be in trouble. Luke rolled his neck to loosen his tight shoulders and then hoisted the cups. He let himself out, taking care not to clang the damn cowbell. He was halfway to the parking lot when he stopped in his tracks, staring at the seven cars in the lot. Seven. And their car was parked out back. That made eight. The hair on the back of his neck stood at attention.

Maybe there was nothing to worry about. Maybe a family was staying at the Fleabag Inn and they’d arrived in two cars. Yeah, right. Or maybe he’d better go back and check out that office again. His gut notched up to red alert. He retraced his steps and slipped inside. The cowbell didn’t even budge. Luke set the coffee on the counter and vaulted over the locked half-door. There was a light burning in the paneled office down the hallway, but no signs of life.

He withdrew his gun and crept into the office. His hand shook slightly when he nudged the body on the floor by the desk. The night clerk’s body was still warm.

The phone call.

A sizzle of warning crawled down his spine. His phone call to Murphy. One little phone call and now a man was dead. The clerk’s only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The hit had Sloan written all over it. Why pay for a room you wouldn’t be using long when it was so much easier to shoot someone? The bastard didn’t care who got killed, so long as he achieved results. Anyone unfortunate enough to be in his way—nuns, small children, innocent motel clerks—was expendable. They were treated equally. Equally ruthlessly.

Luke scanned the hallway and quickly hustled back to the counter. He paused to take stock of the missing keys. One of them belonged to a killer.

A killer who was looking for him.

His stance resolute, he tucked his gun back in the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt free to cover the bulk. Luke hoisted the coffee and left the office. He forced himself to stroll along the sidewalk, taking care not to look directly at the motel rooms, keeping his gaze to the ground while he checked the water under each air conditioning unit.

Number six. Only four doors away from theirs. There was barely a drip from the AC. Probably because it had only been turned on recently. He wondered how many goons waited, sweating behind the door. Knowing Sloan, he’d probably only sent one or two. A dealer of Luke’s caliber wouldn’t have been worthy of more effort. But regardless of his rank in the organization, regardless of the magnitude of the slight, Sloan would’ve dealt with the double-cross. It was one of the rules of the game.

He tensed when he noticed the minuscule twitch of the curtain and forced himself to take a careless sip of the scalding coffee.

It was going down now. Luke felt the certainty pump through him like a shot of adrenaline. They would take him out and then they’d walk four doors down, where Jilly lay tangled in the sheets. And they’d take her out, too.

He jerked his thoughts away from the kids. They were all in big trouble. He took another sip of the coffee and grimaced as it burned all the way down his throat. He heard the door creak open and said a silent prayer as he slowly turned around.

Chapter 3

Jillian bolted upright when the door bounced back against the wall. Sunlight streamed into the room, blinding her for a moment. When she opened her eyes, a large shadow blocked the doorway. She hadn’t even caught her breath before he was on her, shaking her, pulling her from the bed.

“What! What is it?”

He jerked her face up, trapping it between two very large hands. Hands that were spattered with blood. She opened her mouth to scream and he quickly clapped his fingers over her lips.

“Not a sound,” he breathed in her ear. She nodded and he slowly removed his hand.

“Luke, for God’s sake! What the hell is going on? You scared—”

He put his hand back over her mouth. “Not now. There’s no time. I need you to listen. Can you do that?” She nodded again.

“We’re leaving. Right now.”

“But why—”

He held up his hand in warning. “Later. Get the kids up. I’m gonna move the car. When I pull in front of the door, you haul ass out there and toss ’em in to me. Got it?”

“They need to dress and brush their teeth—”

“Screw their teeth! Do you see this blood? I didn’t cut myself shaving.”

Jillian felt her blood pressure skyrocket. “Well, fine, then. You’re in such a blasted hurry. Go get the car.” She hadn’t been awake two minutes and he’d already managed to make her lose her temper. What kind of mother woke her children and threw them into a car? With no breakfast? Without a washup? Why, the child authorities would be all over her in no time.

“And take the overnight bag with you. It’ll save a trip.”

“How soon can you be ready?”

She stripped off her gym shorts right in front of him. If he was going to make her rush, well then, dammit, she would show him a thing or two. She flung the shorts into the overnight bag and yanked out her jeans. Without stopping to put them on, she turned back to the dresser and with a scowl, swept all the kids’ loose items into the duffel, clearing the top in a heartbeat. She zipped the bag angrily and hurled it across the bed at Luke, who caught it in the chest, watching her with something close to shock in his eyes.

“How about two minutes? Is that bloody quick enough?”

“Look, there’s no need to go off.”

“Go off? You burst in here, scare the daylights out of me. It’s not even dawn yet and I am so not a morning pers—”

He held up one hand and the look in his eyes was enough to silence her. “Not now. You can chew me out in the car. Get the kids up.”

His grim, no-nonsense stare made her bite back the argument she wanted badly to start. She glared at him as she shimmied into her jeans and rammed her T-shirt into the waistband. He was still watching her when she pulled her hair back into a lopsided ponytail.

“You can have three minutes,” he countered.

“Your generosity knows no bounds.” Luke’s eyes narrowed at her waspish tone and she sensed that he was barely hanging on to his temper.

“Look, honey, I don’t need this right now. I just took out two guys who were about ten minutes from breakin’ down the door and killing all of us.” He nodded at her startled gasp. “Yeah, that’s right, Your Highness. So if it ain’t too friggin’ much trouble, I’d like to get the hell outta here as soon as possible.”

Jilly swallowed hard. Lord, she’d really gotten into it this time. “Luke…I—I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” He turned on his heel and strode to the window, stopping to peer cautiously through the curtain before he cracked the door open. “Three minutes,” he reminded her.

“Whatever,” she muttered, irritated all over again at his orders. “You’re the one with the blasted stopwatch.”

It had been more than an hour and she still hadn’t spoken. It was just as well, Luke conceded. He needed to concentrate. They’d cleared the motel without any incidents. Well, if one considered neutralizing two enemies and pissing off Jillian as incident-free, then he was golden. He still hadn’t quite recovered from her impromptu striptease. Damn, she was hot. Burning hot. She had legs that went on for miles—legs that ended with a tiny pair of bikini panties that barely managed to cover her curvy butt. Along with those million-dollar legs however, went a very cranky morning disposition.