Surrendering To Her Sergeant (29 page)

At first, all that cell chatter had
given them hope, but after accessing and translating both sides of
the conversations, they had nothing except recordings of Lor
talking about production deals, selling his mansion, and bawling
out his nutritionist that after taking thirty supplements every
day, he wasn’t gaining the muscles the guy had apparently promised.
Tait and Kellan had started to throw down bets as to when the
nutritionist would grow the balls to address the man’s nonstop
cigarette habit. So far, their joint ante totaled forty-two dollars
and fifty cents.

“Okay, let’s feed the kitty,” Kell
offered. “A buck says Aphrodite girl decides to go for the exotic
look and barefoots it.”

Tait snorted. “Are you serious? She’s
pea green over the bestie’s height. Not a chance she’s giving up
the heels.”

A voice from directly over his head
drawled, “Sounds like you boys are having a grand time.”

Tait joined Kell in whipping out his
pistol and turning on the source of the quip. “Holy God,” he spat,
exasperated and relieved at the same time. Though he matched Kell’s
inhalation to try and regulate his heartbeat to normal, there was a
slim fucking chance of success when Luna stood there outfitted to
the brink like the studio accountant she was impersonating. Her
dark brown wig was styled in a demure bun that topped double pearls
at her neck, a grey vest over a white dress shirt, and a black
pencil skirt with matching black pumps.

“Somebody rang for God?”

She strutted forward, taking the saucy
secretary image to a whole new level. Tait couldn’t rip his stare
off of her. Holy fuck, what he wouldn’t do for a three-piece suit
and a desk with bondage hooks about now.

Kell broke into that wet dream with a
line of blazing rage. “Are you fucking nuts?” he
charged.

“Maybe,” Luna returned. “Scratch that.
Yeah, probably.”

Kellan held up his pistol while he
dropped back into position to scope out Lor’s door. “These are
called firearms, Luna. We pull them out when there’s the
possibility of hurting or even killing someone with
them.”

To Tait’s shock, Luna dipped her head
and kicked at the cement below them. “You’re right.
Sorry.”

After Kell acknowledged
that by throwing up his hands, forgiving her and ignoring her in
the same gesture, Tait shifted closer toward her. Watching her even
inch toward submissiveness with someone other than him was, he now
openly admitted, a massive problem. “How the hell did you get up
here? In
those
shoes? It’s a twenty-foot vertical climb,
after
you clear the soundstage
catwalks.”

“What?” Her eyes, covered by contacts
that darkened them to midnight blue, narrowed in confusion.
“They’re platform heels, Weasley, not strappies.”

“Well, shit. Now I feel so much
better.”

“Stop being a Neanderthal.”

He grinned. The opening was too damn
good. After making sure the toga girls had really secured Kell’s
attention again, he couldn’t resist forming a hand around the
perfect swell of her ass. He leaned down and grated into her ear,
“You crave Neanderthal.”

Her breath instantly hitched, igniting
every inch of his body, before she countered, “You have no idea
what I crave.”

“I have
every
idea what you crave.” He
traveled his hand further around her body. “And every idea of how
to give it to you.”

She reached a hand to stop him but
stopped it at his forearm, betraying her own need by gripping him
tight there. Since they were working this op out of sight, he and
Kell were dressed in camo tops and bottoms, but that didn’t stop
the magic of her touch from penetrating the thick cloth.

“What?” she murmured. “You going to
wave your ‘magic wand’ at me, Weasley?”

He ran his lips down the column of her
neck. “Flinging long, blunt objects might have something to do with
it, yes.”

She dug her grip harder. The action
pulled at his arm hair. The tiny rasps of pain fired his desire
even hotter. “We—we have to—stop.”

He groaned. “Did you have to pick the
second I discovered your thong line to say that?”

A little laugh spilled from her,
sounding like sultry music, before she stepped back and
deliberately kept him at arm’s distance. “This is business, okay?
I’m up here, even in this getup, because Franzen and Dan sent
me.”

For a second, he was
actually grateful for her no-nonsense stance. It helped him
leapfrog over the observation that she she’d said
Dan
again, with that
little pitch of familiarity smoothed on top.
Nope. Don’t go there, dude. Not now
.

He called back to Kellan, “Yo, Slash.
Get your adorable ass over here.”

Kell shoved to his feet and trudged
over. “My ass is none of your business, dickwad.”

Normally that would earn the guy
another line of snark but Luna now braced her posture like his,
doubling his curiosity about her purpose in coming up. When she had
Kell’s full attention too, she started. “Bernardo Galvaz contacted
Dan late last night.”

Tait traded a glance with his
partner.

“The guy Runway chatted up in the
desert last week?” Kellan confirmed. “Colton reinserted him back in
with the Aragons after the interrogation, right?”

Luna nodded. “He called on the private
line for the branch. Wouldn’t speak to anyone but Dan. Apparently,
the Aragons are planning quite a party, cartel style.”

“Meaning?” Kellan prompted.

“The compound has become more lively
than usual. Galvaz even said he felt like they were preparing to
become a war zone. The two Aragons themselves, who usually appear
publically in nothing but pricey suits and designer shoes, were
greeting new recruits in battle camos.” Her brow furrowed and her
full lips twisted. “The fact that they were ‘greeting’ recruits at
all raises a flag. Mateo and Alex aren’t usually ones for denting
their manicures on the boys who run their smack.”

Tait voiced the logical conclusion to
that. “If the ‘guests’ are drug hustlers at all.”

“That was Galvaz’s point.” Luna raised
her hands to her hips in emphasis. “He went on to tell Dan that
these guys didn’t seem like street dealers. They walked past tables
full of new heroin bricks without blinking. Their goal was clearly
something else.”

Kellan leaned against the air
conditioning hutch, shoulders tight with concentration.
“Professional mercenaries, then? But for what purpose?”

Aggravation pressed on Tait. “Damn it.
We need to get into that laptop.”

Luna took a measured
breath. “That’s why I’m here.” She tossed a glance across the roofs
of the studio lot then back to both of them. “They’ve sent out
a
second
laptop.”

“What?” He joined Kell in growling
it.

“It left the compound after
midnight in a Mercedes with California plates, with
four
of those new
mercenaries inside. It was the main reason Galvaz called. The guy
is wigged. He negotiated with Dan on the line for his family’s
safety because he’s sure he’ll be dead at the end of all this. He’s
also sure he won’t be the only one.”

“Fuck,” Kellan muttered.

Tait was tempted to echo his friend’s
sentiment. There was something about the way Luna’s face softened
as she said that, almost like she commiserated with Galvaz, that
made his arms clench with the need to pull her close again, and
keep her there this time.

He funneled his frustration into a
tight-lipped outburst. “Haven’t these jerkoffs heard of the
Internet? What’s so important that they can’t encrypt the shit out
of it, press Send, and become the problem of the cyber-spooks in
Langley?”

Kell didn’t bite on the bait of his
rant. The guy rarely did. It was why they worked well together.
Instead his friend lifted a nearly serene gaze back to Luna. “So
you’re saying we now keep eyes open for the second
laptop.”

She nodded again. “And radio straight
to Franz if you do.”

It was the answer they both
expected so Kell didn’t say anything at first. He swept an even
gaze across the cityscape, raising it to include the iconic letters
on Mount Lee,
H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D
, before murmuring,
“We’re still only doing half the job if we don’t get that data
stick.”

The comment made Tait wince on behalf
of Rhett, Rebel, and Ethan. As much as this part of the op sucked
ass, he and Kellan had a cakewalk compared to the world of glitz,
glamour, and insanity through which their friends had slogged the
last few days.

“I can speak for the spooks in saying
we wholeheartedly agree with you, Sergeant Rush.” As if to prove
the point behind her tense tone, Luna squirmed against the confines
of her outfit. Fucking great. Just when Tait’s crotch had settled
to a comfortable state of stand-down, she went and let all that
fabric rub her body in all the places he wanted his hands. “And I’m
glad to say we might be catching a break there, too.”

“Thank God,” Kellan
declared.

“You’re welcome.” She smirked. As Kell
snorted and shook his head, she continued, “I’m not so sure
Runway’s concurring with your take, but he’s being a good sport
about things.”

“A ‘good sport’?” Tait let his
eyebrows dance in amusement. “Please tell me this involves the guy
having to put on some makeup. Some of that pancake stage
shit?”

Luna’s smirk became a little laugh.
“Actually, worse.”

That got even Kellan’s interest.
“Worse?”

“The network is the key sponsor of a
small but pricey fundraiser event at the Loews Santa Monica
tonight. Wounded vets organizations are sharing the proceeds. Ethan
and Rhett are going as special guests at Enzo Lemare’s
table.”

“What about Rebel?” Tait
queried.

“He begged off with a sore
throat.”

Tait openly scoffed. “Sore throat, my
ass. Rebel Stafford is half pirate. Even the devil won’t touch him.
Every virus and bacteria on earth swore him off ten years
ago.”

Luna shrugged and fingered her pearls,
a pure feminine move that still didn’t help the damn tempest in his
pants. “Well, he’s also a good actor, because it stuck. He’s
confined to checking script accuracy for the afternoon. Runway and
Double-O are on their way to have manicures, scalp treatments,
shaves, and hair styling while their dress uniforms are
prepped.”

He and Kell waited for a second of
respectful silence. Then let their laughs explode.

“Scalp treatments?” He emitted a
lingering snicker. “And manicures? And somebody’s going to take
pictures of the pretty little ponies when they’re all done,
right?”

Luna’s gaze met his, sparkling with
merriment despite the contacts. Damn, it felt good to give her some
happiness. “With the entire Hollywood press corps invited and half
the limos in town booked? Uhhh, yeah. You could say
that.”

Tait turned and bumped fists with his
friend. “Epic.”

An early season hurricane had hit
Mexico last week. The debris from it, nasty balls of tangled
seaweed and mud, had started to wash up on California beaches a
couple of days ago.

Except for the wad that had made its
way to Ava’s throat.

She did her best to smile
through the agony while she kept to the shadows near the Loews
hotel’s pool deck. While a small ensemble filled the air with a
grandpa’s jazz take on
Blurred
Lines
, flashbulbs popped to record the
gripping, grinning, air-kissing and flirting of upper-tier
Hollywood. Nearly all the one-namers were present, including Brad,
Angelina, Kerry, Channing, Jenna, Leo, and George. Diamonds
sparkled. Evening gowns swished. Champagne flowed.

And Bella draped herself all over
Ethan every chance she got.

The woman wasn’t shy about making sure
there were a lot of chances. Ava knew this for a fact, because her
whole body felt electrocuted with each occurrence. Every time the
woman stroked his chest with demure possessiveness equaled a
sixty-watt heartache hit. The knob got cranked to a hundred twenty
if Bella rested her head against his shoulder, cheesy girlfriend
style. That got doubled any time the woman trailed her fingers
along the firm line of his jaw. Thank God someone at the salon had
convinced him to throw some product in his hair and slick it into a
sophisticated neuvo-Euro look so Bella’s grip couldn’t get anywhere
near the thick waves.