Elite Metal-ARE-epub (51 page)

What followed were a series of blows which threatened to emasculate him. He blocked most, and took two. One set his teeth rattling, but he got his arms around her and managed to dodge the head butt to the face. Locking his legs around hers and keeping her arms pinned, he had to cant his head to the side to avoid the jaw-cracking slam of her head to his shoulder. The bruising force hurt.

When she stopped struggling, he didn’t trust her cooperation. “I want to offer you a deal,” he said instead. “A follow up to my earlier suggestion.”

“Apparently, I’m listening.” Anger burst like firecrackers in the handful of syllables. Oh, he’d pissed her off. A kernel of joy settled in the pit of his stomach. If she’d stayed cold and divorced from the situation, he’d have worried she might kill him after the takedown. While she still might, anger gave him a crack in the door—something he could wedge open.

“I’m going to let you go. I
don’t
want to hurt you, but I also don’t want you to walk away.”

“Boo hoo for you.”
Snark.
He could handle snark.

“Don’t be pissy, Copper.” He took a chance and nuzzled her earlobe. A shudder shook her, and he forgot about the fact they sprawled on the grass at the edge of a parking lot or that people dined a few dozen yards away. He forgot about the cars and the rocks digging into his spine. She
responded
to him. Another piece of information to catalog. Whatever she was into or wasn’t—whatever the hell she had going on—what happened between them was between them. “Seriously,” he said, forcing himself to release her earlobe. “I like you.”

Then, putting his life in her hands, he let her go. She didn’t waste time. She went from being quiescent against him to straddling his chest with a gun pointed at his chin. Her expression was full of cold fury. “You have a really fucked up way of showing it.”

“Do I?” He put his hands on her hips. “I had you, fair and square. I
let
you go.”

“You do realize I could blow your head off and no one would know, right?” Irritation discolored her words. More tone, more—
her
and less the cool operator.

“I do. I’m also trusting you don’t want to.” Since she hadn’t objected to him touching her, he rubbed his palms along her thighs. The gun didn’t move. “Have coffee with me. Let’s do this right.”

“I can’t.” Not didn’t want to, but
can’t
.

“All right. Maybe later?”

“I won’t be here later.  You need to forget about me, Gabriel.”

He stilled at the use of his name. She made it sound like a caress. He’d pay money to have her say it again. “Not possible. I haven’t forgotten you once in two years, and then I only saw you walk through a room. How the hell do you expect me to do it now?”

With a sigh, she said, “Because if you don’t, it’s going to get ugly for you. I’m bad news, got it?”

“I dealt in bad news, sweetheart. You are anything but bad.” In fact, she was…amazing.
And I apparently need my head examined.

“What the hell is wrong with you? Most men aren’t this stubborn.” It seemed she agreed with his conscience.

“I’m not most men.” Sitting, he nudged her back to straddle his waist, then further until her ass rested on his thighs. The gun lowered a fraction, but he left it alone. If she’d planned on killing him, he’d already be dead. Adrenaline surged through his system. He’d forgotten how exhilarating it was to be in the field. His current state, however, had nothing to do with being in the field. “I want to help you.”

He did?

“You do?”

She sounded nearly as skeptical as he felt, but he hadn’t been lying. “I do.” Then, because what the hell else did he have to lose? “I’m pretty sure you’re Special Forces of some kind, and I’m getting the feeling you’re on the job. I spent a lot of years doing what you’re doing. Assets in the field are amazing. I have something you want or you wouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

After re-engaging the safety, she stood and robbed him of the soft sensation of her ass on his lap. She stowed the gun in her waistband. He’d been right, the shirt hid it neatly. When she extended her hand, he accepted it, but only for the contact. He was perfectly capable of getting to his own feet.

Still holding her hand, he tugged her to him. “My suggestion is you use me.”

“You really are insane.”

“Certifiable.” He grinned. “But only for you.”

“Well, I’m really sorry,” she said, glancing down to where he held her hand.

“Why?”

The blow slammed into the back of his head, and he pitched forward. She caught him and a distant part of his mind heard irritation in her voice. “Dammit, Merc. You didn’t have to hit him so hard.”

She cared.

A gravelly voice answered. “He’ll live.”

Then blackness swallowed him whole.

Consciousness returned with agonizing and brutal slowness. Coughing, he tried to clear the dryness from his throat and forced his eyes to open. A mistake. The light cut through his skull like a blowtorch. Squeezing them shut, he fought to inhale through his nose and out through his mouth. Matching his breathing to the four count of his heart rate let him push past the illness swamping him.

Focus.

Control.

Breathe.

When he opened his eyes a second time and forced his chin up to survey his surroundings, he identified blank walls, a table, two chairs, and a camera in the corner. Nothing—and no one else. His arms were secured at his sides, wrists bound with individual threads of rope wrapped around each finger then secured to the chair legs.

Effective. No way to dislocate a thumb and slip free unless he wanted to dislocate all of his fingers. A second cough, and he didn’t taste any blood. The pounding in his brain, however, wouldn’t cease no matter what breathing tricks he tried.

The door opened and a dark figure entered. A water bottle was set on the table, lid secured. Whether to taunt or because his interrogator wanted a drink, who knew? Gabriel didn’t struggle, sneer or otherwise respond.

Was this—
what did she call his assailant? Merc? As in Mercenary?
Dressed in unrelieved black and wearing a ski mask, his captor’s only visible feature were eyes and the color remained indistinct in the shadows.

“Name?”

Really?
Even with his head threatening to split open, he wasn’t fooled. They knew exactly who he was. Why else would he be here, unless—? Had they been after Copper? The moments surrounding the thunderbolt slamming into his skull were a little blurry. She’d offered him her hand, and he’d gotten to his feet.

Then she’d…

“Name,” Mr. Monosyllable demanded.

Gabriel smiled. “My name is Inigo Montoya, and you are an asshole.”

The masked figure stiffened then sighed. “Mr. Danvers, this doesn’t have to be unpleasant.”

“Shocking, considering I’m nursing a concussion. You’re lucky I haven’t vomited all over you.” Then, because his skull didn’t like him talking, he said, “But keep asking me questions. That can change.” Where the hell was Copper?

He tested each rope. They hadn’t quite cut off his circulation, but his fingers weren’t moving. Wiggling his toes, he took inventory. They’d lashed his ankles, too. Fuckers didn’t take any chances. Smart.

Irritating, but smart.

“I’ll take my chances.” Was that a note of amusement? “You’re Gabriel Danvers, Professor.”

“No, asshole. I told you, I’m Inigo Montoya.” His right eye twitched. The light acted like a blade, stabbing over and over. Pain could be controlled and he’d had extensive anti-interrogation training. If he could get the pulses in his head to keep time with his heart rate, he could breathe through the worst of it. “Where’s Copper?”

The man unscrewed the water bottle then took a drink. Setting the bottle down, he left the cap off. So, it was there to taunt.
Good to know.

Gabriel ignored the drink.

“You worked for the CIA.”

“Nope, I was hired by Vizzini to kidnap a princess.” Sometimes he cracked himself up. “Don’t suppose you’ve seen her? Sexy as sin? Red gold hair, dark skin, legs that don’t quit?”

“What do you know about Red Wolf?”

“Not much. How much caffeine does it have in it? Last I checked, Red Bull was the thing.” Red Wolf—terrorists. Highly specialized. Urban legend. Facts ticked through his brain. He’d had a file on them a few years before, but it went nowhere. After he submitted a request for more resources to set on the trail, he’d been reassigned. South American shithole number one, followed quickly by shithole number two.

A shoe scuffing the floor behind him warned him a moment before a gun pressed to the back of his skull. “Jackson Jennings. Why were you meeting with him?”

They were going to pull the trigger or not. Meeting the gaze of the man across from him, he said, “I have no students named Jackson Jennings. If this is about cheating, I think you’ve taken it a little far. Where is Copper?”

Cool steel dug into the back of his head, applying pressure to what had to be the lump where he’d been struck. A blinding wash of pain slashed his vision in half. With his limited resources, Gabriel focused on breathing. Were they interrogating Copper as well?

Or was she in this with them? She’d said something about Merc—he couldn’t quite make out the words. They’d faded. Concentrating on her, he remembered the way her skin felt under his fingers. Hot, silky and alive. The strength in her legs when she’d wrapped them around him and how fucking sweet it had been to sink into her.

Fingers snapped in front of his eyes. Ignoring the interruption, he let the sweet memory of her demanding kisses brush aside the pain. Fiery and tempestuous, she’d dug her fingers into his shoulders. Her nails hadn’t been sharp or especially long, but she’d left a few marks. Some women were fragile, beautiful for their exquisite delicacy. Others were athletic, strong and supple—a perfect invitation to enjoy. Still others were harder, tougher to crack, and jaded from a life of difficult choices.

Copper defied all of those categories. Tough, sexy, and tremendously strong, but beneath the defenses and masks, she possessed a stunning vulnerability. Like a mirage in the desert, he’d glimpsed it a couple of times—during her orgasm and then when she’d been frustrated with him at the restaurant.

Little surprised her—

Pain whipped across his face, and he tasted blood. Rolling his jaw, he spared a look at the man looming over him. Menace rolled off him in waves. The one across the table wanted answers. This guy? He wanted a pound of flesh.

“What?” The word snapped out, and his jaw throbbed. The new pain replaced the sickening thud in his head and helped to clear his thoughts.

“Stop playing games, Mr. Danvers. Answer the questions, and you might walk out of here.”

“Might is a pretty tensile promise and, since you haven’t answered mine, here’s a reply. Go fuck yourself.” Bravado wasn’t hard to manufacture. Training taught him cooperation would only get him so far. If a person didn’t feel the pain or could transmute the pain into something else, he could make it through.

Besides, in a world where information was currency, he planned to hold onto every dime of his. The questions were rephrased, repeated, and relentless. Despite the threat of abuse, however, they didn’t do much more than open-handed slaps and one punch when he retreated into his memories of Copper.

He lost track of time, but not of the number of questions. The two men in the room were both masked, both lacking anything distinctive. They’d finished their water bottles and left him nothing. Blood lingered in his mouth, but he ignored the metallic flavor.

They weren’t getting what they wanted. At one lull in the questioning, the two men looked at each other. Whatever passed between them translated into silent communication—they’d worked together before. Observation told him only so much. Their voices were masculine, nondescript, and he couldn’t pinpoint an accent for either one. They said nothing more than was absolutely necessary, however.

Because he was still breathing, he said, “Do you want to answer my questions yet?”

Both men paused to stare at him. The tension ratcheted, the silence taut. A door opened behind him, and Gabriel listened. No footsteps—or so quiet as to make no noise—and a cool hand pressed against his neck. Angling his head, he tried to get a look, but the fingers on his neck tightened and forced his head forward.

Fingers. Not gloves.

Warm, strong—and definitely not male.

Was Copper really in on this with these guys? Was this her assignment? Had he been set up?

A needle pricked his neck and he swore. The coolness spread, then began to warm as it assaulted his muscles. A narcotic—muscle relaxer? Truth serum? The world fuzzed around the edges. “Fuck.” He swore.
Anesthetic.

The hand on his neck relaxed, and he tipped his head back. Copper’s face swam into his vision, only it wasn’t her. It was her eyes. She wore a mask like the other two. Her voice was low, when she said, “I’m sorry. You’re not going to remember this, but I am sorry.”

The hell he wouldn’t remember. He hadn’t for—blackness.

Chapter Five

“Ant broke the last of the decryptions an hour ago.” Chrome’s voice sounded tinny on the cell’s speakerphone. “He’s retired, but the agency reached out to him recently, as far as we can tell. He doesn’t work for them directly, not anymore. Alayna confirmed with her contacts. Let him go, concentrate on Coyle. He’s made plans to head to Las Vegas for some conference.”

“Fun.” She hated what they’d done to Gabriel. Hours of questioning, yet he hadn’t cracked, not once. He had, however, asked about her. Several times. Merc’s irritation batted at her like a cat playing with a ball.

“It’s on International Commerce.” Chrome was still talking, so she focused on the orders. “Lots of out of town guests and businesses. We’re putting together a list based on their confirmations.”

Rubbing the back of her neck, she couldn’t get the disappointment in Gabriel’s gaze out of her mind. Recognition sparked in them when he’d tipped his head back, recognition and regret. Compartmentalizing was what she did, but he wouldn’t stay in the box.