GetOn (6 page)

“Watch me,” Garrett said, keeping his stare locked on her in
the mirror. “Keep your eyes on how I’m fucking you with my hands, Mia. You want
another finger, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered, raising her breasts higher. “God,
please, fuck me harder, Garrett!”

He added a third finger, stretching her walls as she bathed
him in the sweet, hot fluid of her arousal. He quickened his hand on her clit
as his fingers plunged deep within her. Over and over, deeper and harder as her
pants turned into cries, and then to screams when she finally couldn’t take any
more.

He pressed down on her clit as hard as he could, adding a
fourth finger, and then she came, shuddering and thrusting, arching her back
and fondling her own breasts, a wild creature covered in water and only
standing because he refused to let her fall. Her pussy clenched around his hand
as if it never wanted to let him leave.

When she quieted and fell limp against him, he withdrew his
hands and helped her stand. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he smiled.

“I guess you like to watch too.”

The rest of the shower was much less eventful. They shared
the tiny bar of hotel soap, moving quickly since the hot water was all but
gone. Mia smiled at him in the mirror as she bent to turn off the water.

“I’m glad this isn’t my house.”

Garrett stepped onto the terrycloth bathmat, wrinkling his
nose as it squished beneath his feet. “You and me both.”

The whole room was soaked, but fortunately the towels on the
top shelf were only a little damp. Mia wrapped herself in one, taking another
to make a tall turban atop her head.

“I’m going to grab some pajamas. I’ll be right back.”
Pressing a kiss to his lips, she darted from the room.

Garrett reached over and picked up his discarded clothing
from their haphazard pile in front of the bathroom door. Mia was humming
tunelessly in the other room, a happy, contented sound. As he pulled on his
jeans, a dark feeling started to descend on him.

It was time. He’d known it since before the restaurant, but
he hadn’t really wanted to think about it. This wasn’t real life for him. This
had been a wonderful interlude in the constant war zone that was his existence.
Revenge was the only lady in his life. He didn’t have room for anyone else,
even someone as wonderful as Mia.

Something deep inside begged him to reconsider, but as he
pulled the shirt over his head, covering the large police shield over his
heart, he slammed the door on those thoughts.

It wouldn’t be fair to Mia to ask her to give him a chance.
After all, there was a good possibility that Art Ford might discover Garrett’s
vendetta and have him killed. Garrett wasn’t prepared to think about the danger
that Mia could be in if she was involved with him. He’d already lost someone he
cared about, and he wasn’t about to do it again. He’d keep her safe from afar,
but that was it. The safest thing for him—and more importantly, for her—would
be a clean break, right now.

No matter how much it hurt.

Her blood hadn’t really stopped racing through her veins and
she should be about to fall asleep, but for some reason, as Mia pawed through
her suitcase to find the cute nightie she’d stuck in there on a whim, she was
oddly energized. Humming one of her favorite songs, she unzipped the front of
her weathered black case.

There. Emerald green, lacy cups, spaghetti straps. Perfect
for sleeping next to her hunky ex-cop.

The thought made her laugh. Her, Mia Bartholomew, dating a former
police officer? Well, as
Abuela
would say, stranger things had happened.

Untucking the corner of the towel, she let it fall to the
floor. Shivering at the sudden feel of air-conditioned air on her still-damp
skin, she shimmied into the nightie, not bothering to put on a pair of panties.
After all, considering their track record, she probably wouldn’t be needing
them.

As she untwisted her towel turban and began carefully drying
her hair, a sudden sound brought her attention around.

Garrett was standing, fully dressed, by the bathroom door.

“Sorry,” she said, her heart thumping a little harder at the
sight of him. “Was I humming too loud?”

“No,” he said, his face too serious. “No, nothing like that.
I… I need to get going.” He turned and reached for the handle of the hotel room
door.

Mia dropped the towel, shock making her fingers numb. “Wait!
Where…I mean, you don’t need to go, do you?” She ran to his side. “I thought
you might want to stay. Here. With me.”

He looked down into her face, and she wasn’t sure what that
expression was. His ghost-gray eyes looked right through her, didn’t seem to
see her at all.

“I can’t. I have to take care of things, and I don’t have
room for anything else. But don’t worry, I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

Worry shot through her and she grabbed his arm before he
could reach for the doorknob again. “Garrett, please. This is about more than
just tonight. This guy, this Ford, he’s dangerous. You said so. I know I
haven’t known you very long, but I don’t think this revenge business is a good
idea.” Her voice fell to an almost-whisper. “You could get hurt.”

“People already have been hurt.” He stared at the wall above
her head. “But I can stop this. I’m so close, Mia. I can’t give up now.”

Mia’s heart was in her throat. God, why was it so hard to
let him walk out the door? She shouldn’t care this much. It was too soon. But
she
did
care, somehow, and it was going to kill her to let him leave
without trying. Her bare toes curled into the carpet as she straightened her
spine and looked directly up into his blank face.

“Garrett, don’t leave. I might not ever see you again.
Tonight…please stay here with me.”

He looked down at her then, and for a second she could see
the naked pain in his beautiful clear eyes. She gasped, her heart seeming to
rip in two at the vision of suffering there. Biting her lip, she glanced away,
unable to take it.

“I have to.” He stepped close to her, resting his forehead
atop her still-wet curls. She fisted her hands at her sides, waiting for the
feeling to pass. It didn’t.

With a single finger, he raised her chin and pressed a soft,
chaste kiss to her lips. A small half-smile twisted his lips as he looked down
at her.

“It was nice to know you, Mia.”

She set her jaw. “Nice to know me? So I’m not allowed to
ever see you again?”

He shook his head. “It’s much too dangerous. Ford—”

Without even thinking about it, she planted both palms on
his chest. “You’re not Superman, Garrett. This fucker is a drug dealer, a crook
and a
murderer
. I know you used to be a cop, but leave this guy to the
police! It’s
their
job to arrest him, not yours. There’s something
between us, and that deserves a chance. Don’t do this, don’t leave, don’t—”

“I have to. It’s for the best.”

And then, without another word or even a last look at her,
he opened the door and walked out of her life.

“Garrett, wait!”

He didn’t stop, just continued down the hall and disappeared
into the alcove that housed the elevators.

Ducking back into the room, she scrambled to find her
keycard. Once she’d grabbed it and shoved her feet into some flip-flops, she
barreled down the hall. But the elevator had already come and gone. She was too
late.

“Fuck,” she said, glaring down at the see-through lace cups
of her nightie. “Fuck, fuck and triple fuck.”

A large window lined the back wall of the alcove, the
shining skyline of Atlanta glittering against the night sky. Mia walked toward
it, drawn like a moth to a porch light. Pressing her palm against the cold
glass, she let herself go.

The anger within her had masked the fear, just a little. But
without it, her feelings came crashing forward.

He was going to die, she just knew it. He wouldn’t listen,
wouldn’t admit that what had happened between them was something incredible. It
was more than she’d ever felt before.

She wasn’t sure why she glanced downward. Being on the
eleventh floor, she was much too high to be able to hear anything from the
street below. But as she looked down, she was completely certain that the
single taillight she saw moving down the street was him.

Once he was gone, she turned and walked back toward her
room. Laughter came from somewhere down the hall and a door just past hers
slammed shut. A short, skinny guy ogled her as he approached.

Mia crossed her arms over her chest and stalked straight
ahead. God, why hadn’t she grabbed a robe or something?

In the safety and privacy of her hotel room, she began to
pace, worry eating her insides. Tomorrow, she’d have to see if she still had a
job. She had, after all, missed a whole day of Drama Tattoo’s biggest convention
of the year. Should she try to track down Garrett afterward? Ford had taken so
much from him. His girlfriend, his career, his whole life. But how could she
stand by when he was in danger? He’d protected her. Didn’t she owe him?

She kicked off her flip-flops and padded into the bathroom
to brush her teeth, but stopped at the threshold.

The mirror spread out in front of her, water all over the
white-tiled floor.

A hot tear tracked down her cheek. That bastard. How dare he
make her feel beautiful and then leave?

* * * * *

As the bike roared beneath him, Garrett tried really hard to
pretend he didn’t feel like a shit-headed bastard.

He failed.

The night air rushed past his bare arms, seeming to accuse
as it pummeled him.
How could you
, it shrieked in his ears, sounding
just like Mia.
That was special, and you just pissed all over it.

He kept his gaze locked on the open road in front of him,
thankful that the lights of the city were far enough behind him now. Edging up
the throttle, he shot forward.

He had to keep his mind on the mission. This was his life’s
work, and he’d been wrong to get distracted, and to get Mia involved. She was
probably pissed as hell, he mused as he reluctantly rolled to a stop at an
intersection. He’d known she would be, but he hadn’t expected the hurt on her
face. It had almost made him stop, try to figure out a way for them to explore
what was beginning between them.

Almost. But not enough for him to forget the danger she’d be
in. He had shit to do tonight, but tomorrow? He’d be skulking around that
convention, making sure none of Ford’s buddies had discovered Mia. And as soon
as the convention was done and she’d driven away, he’d be right back where he
belonged—tracking down the bad guy.

When the light flipped to green, Garrett shoved off the
pavement, the engine rumbling and vibrating through his body. Not far now.

When he arrived, he parked his bike between Trent’s black
Harley and Quentin’s red custom chopper inside the small detached garage. The
house was also small, a blue ranch with red shutters, soft golden light shining
from one of the front windows. Nestled in a quiet suburb, it was located way
off the road with no neighbors. Thankfully.

Gravel crunched under Garrett’s feet as he walked up the
semi-lit path to the door. He glanced at the small, hand-carved cedar sign that
dangled above the porch. Quentin had done it as a joke, not long after they had
joined forces, four guys who’d all suffered and lost something dear to them.

Nameless
, the sign declared in beautiful black script,
the letters shining even through the dark of night. It meant nothing and
everything.

Garrett’s wry grin went unseen as he mounted the steps to
the porch. Their little group didn’t need a name. They each had a mission, a
purpose to fulfill. And since Garrett’s was hopefully drawing to a close, he’d
throw himself into helping with their problems as soon as he was able.

After all, he owed his life to the three men inside.

“Garrett!” Trent called as he came through the door. “I’m
surprised to see you here tonight.”

“Didn’t want to go home,” Garrett said as he came through
the darkened entryway. The house had been abandoned when Quentin bought it and
they’d turned it into a headquarters of sorts. Now it was sparsely furnished,
mostly used as a storage and research base. Filing cabinets lined the wall
closest to the door, the kitchen beyond done in pale blues and brick reds.
There were no comfy couches, no big TV, hell, they didn’t have much more than a
large worktable, a handful of chairs and whatever they brought with them. Home,
it wasn’t. But with the fern-patterned wallpaper still adorning the living room
area, the scuffed wooden floors and the cheerful kitchen, it was easy to see
this had once been a comfortable home for someone.

Trent was seated at one end of the wooden worktable, a
camera pulled into seventeen different pieces spread out in front of him. Reg
was on one side, reading glasses perched on his oft-broken nose as he stared
intently at his MacBook screen. And Quentin stood by the window, large arms
crossed over his chest, looking out into the night as if waiting for something.

Weren’t they all?

“I figured you’d be with Mia tonight.” Trent arched a dark
brow at Garrett as he snapped a piece into place on the Nikon camera body.
“Since the two of you were so friendly earlier.”

“What?” Reg’s crisp British accent always made him seem a
bit too refined, but Garrett knew how vicious the guy really was. Behind that
posh expat exterior was a brilliant computer hacker and a brutal fighter.
“Who’s Mia? Odd for
you
to get distracted by a bit of fanny.”

Garrett glowered at Reg, gripping the edge of the table to
keep from breaking the bastard’s nose. Again. “She’s just a girl I helped get
away from the cops last night. She has nothing to do with this, or with us.”
Garrett turned. “Quentin, any news?”

The tall African-American man shook his head as he looked
away from the window. “Nothing concrete. After the raid on the drop today, he’s
gone to ground. That deal has been postponed indefinitely, according to my
contact.”

“Fuck.” Garrett’s fist landed on the table, making Trent’s
camera pieces jump. “How could we have been so close?”

“We’ll get him,” Trent said calmly as he retrieved a lens
that had fallen with Garrett’s display of temper. “I promised you a long time ago
that we’d get him, and I meant it. Don’t doubt us, man.”

“Now this certainly is interesting,” Reg mused aloud, one
hand rubbing his clean-shaven chin thoughtfully. His shaggy hair fell forward
as he leaned closer to the screen. “Indeed.”

“What is it?” Garrett rounded the table to look at Reg’s
computer screen.

“I seem to have
stumbled upon
Mr. Ford’s private
email account. Oh dear me,” Reg said mildly as he took screen shots of the most
recent message. “The street race may have been a setup.”

“For what?” Garrett crouched beside Reg’s chair, watching as
he scanned through the rest of the message. Garrett read aloud from the screen.
“Since the first try failed, I want insurance on the second race. Ramirez’s car
won’t make the finish line, you get me? I’ll let you know when to move.”

Reg hummed deep in his throat. “Despite his crowing, he’s
quite a clever little fuck.”

Quentin snorted, leaving his position by the window. “Smart
enough to have his race opponent fucked over before the race. Won’t be much of
a contest there.”

“No, it’s more than that.” Garrett stood, his brain racing
as he tried to make sense of what Reg had just found. “There’s something here,
I’m just not quite seeing the whole picture.”

Garrett’s fist thumped against his palm, the quick sting deliciously
clarifying. Suddenly his synapses were firing faster and more calculating as he
considered. “I need to find out who this Ramirez is. What are the stakes of
this thing? Why does he care so much about a street race? Quentin, how fast can
you get up with your contact?”

Quentin pulled his smartphone from his pocket. “Right now.”

“See if they know anything about this Ramirez guy, and what
Ford stands to gain. What’s the prize? If I’m right, then this just might be
our chance to finally put him away.”

As Garrett waited for Quentin to make the call, a nagging
feeling dogged his steps. He was awfully afraid it might be hope.