Eric (In the Company of Snipers Book 15) Page 18

  Murphy stood at a control panel near the stairs. “Like I said, I like to be prepared. Now put that there invention in here.” He punched a button on the panel with his knuckle, and the steel cabinet to his left rotated outward like a door, revealing a larger safe. “That other’s a decoy. Ammo’s under the stairs. Weapons too. Take what you need. Your little lady know how to shoot?”

  “I do,” Shea asserted quietly. “Eric taught me. I’m a better shot than he is.”

  She had to let that cat out of the bag. Yes, she was a better shot, but only because he couldn’t concentrate at the range with her around him. One whiff of her perfume and he was—distracted.

  “That so?” Murphy winked. “Maybe I should’ve hired you instead of him.”

  “Maybe,” Eric agreed. “She’s got better eyes.” He handed over the laptop for Murphy’s safekeeping.

  Once they were back up top, Murphy secured the metal floor panel and moved a heavy-duty work rug to cover it. The garage went back to ordinary. He gestured to his gray panel truck. “Get in. I’ll be right back.”

  Opening the back gate of the truck, Eric ushered Shea up and inside. One bench seat lined the side, but better yet, a foam mattress had been spread on the floor along with two pillows in clean pillowcases and a blanket. Murphy had thought of everything. Eric climbed in, tired but not sure he’d get any sleep with Shea snuggled against him.

  Murphy returned with a medium-sized aluminum suitcase, which he stowed behind the driver’s seat. “Keep down,” he warned as he opened the garage door and pulled the vehicle onto the road. “I don’t think we were followed before, but just in case. Let’s keep everyone guessing.”

  Eric got comfortable with Shea’s back to his front. The truck swayed from curve to curve on the way to Ashford. He dipped his face into her hair when Murphy turned the radio to a local station. The last thing Eric remembered before he drifted off to sleep was having his arms around heaven.

  Aishling snores?

  Eric stared down at the purring beast curled in his arm. “What are you doing here? Where’s Shea?”

  Purr. Purr. Purr. Damned if the cat didn’t look like she was smiling. Even her coal black whiskers tilted upward.

  He stroked her silky belly. “Tell me. What’d you do with her?”

  “Meow-fff,” she answered in a hoarse little cat-whisper. “Meow-fff.”

  The dream swelled up around Eric. Why did he feel as if Aishling had just told him Shea would be purr… purr... purr-fectly safe?

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Shea opened her eyes when the truck stopped moving, surprised she hadn’t had a nightmare. It had to be because she’d slept with Eric for the first time in a long while. With his bicep for a pillow and his muscular body half-blanketing hers, she’d been lulled into restful oblivion by the hum of the truck and the sturdy strength of his body.

  But the engine had stopped, and he was no longer beside her. She pulled the blanket up to her chin and listened while he and Murphy strategized from the front seat. It had to have been well after midnight, but Murphy had the window between the shell and cab of the truck open. That was thoughtful, to be included in their plans.

  “If you get the slightest inkling Carlson won’t negotiate, you need to back off.”

  “I won’t be asking,” Eric said quietly. “The next time you see me, be ready to hit the gas. If I’m lucky, I’ll be moving fast with three in tow.”

  “Same protocol as a black op?”

  “That’ll work, but whatever you do—”

  “I know, I know. Keep Shea safe. Count on it. What if Jordan and your friends aren’t mobile?”

  Eric paused. “Then we’re screwed. If I had a few Tattle Tales, I could plant them to keep track of what’s going on inside or if they move Jordan.”

  “Humph,” Murphy grunted. “I can get those in place no problem. I always keep a handful.”

  “You’ve got the app that goes with them?”

  “And the laptop to monitor all video feeds, too. I’ve been to a few goat ropes before, you know.”

  “How about you go in first then? Plant as many Tattle Tales as you can, and once you’re back, I’ll go in.”

  It sounded as if Murphy drummed his fingers. “Things could still get ugly.”

  “We’ll cross the ugly bridge when we get to it. When did you plan to go in?”

  “Now. Hand me the suitcase behind my seat.”

  “I’m awake,” Shea announced as she doffed the blanket. “What’s up, guys?”

  Eric tugged Murphy’s small suitcase out from behind the front seat, handing it off as he talked. “Murphy’s going into Ashford first to add a little insurance before I go in.” The suitcase clasp unlocked and— “Oh, hell no. Not this again.”

  The suitcase had just revealed not only Murphy’s laptop, but the red sequined dress. “What part about ‘no’ don’t you understand, Murph?” Eric hissed.

  Like before, his boss shrugged, in what Shea decided was his way of getting around stubborn people. And Eric could be very stubborn. “Just keeping all options open,” he replied smoothly.

  “No,” Eric growled. “She stays, you go. Are you ready?”

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” Murphy answered as he snagged his jacket from the suitcase. “You kids be good while I’m gone. It might take a minute or two to get inside. Might not. We’ll know soon.”

  “You got your ears on?”

  Murphy tapped his head. “I’m on an active op, aren’t I?” he answered with a hint of sarcasm.

  “Just asking. I can’t help you if I can’t hear you. Don’t take chances, Murph. This guy’s a flaming bastard. We’ll keep the light on.”

  The door opened and quickly closed behind Murphy. In seconds, he’d faded into the pre-dawn darkness and a lot of trees.

  “His ears?” Shea asked.

  “We wear Bluetooth earpieces when we go dark. Keeps us linked. Right now, I’m listening to an old guy walking through the trees and whistling.”

  “Where are we?” Shea asked. “Close to the castle?”

  “No. We’re nearer the next village over. Murphy’s got a good two click hike ahead of him, then he has to get inside the castle without being seen.” Eric drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “Come sit up front with me while we wait.”

  “First, I need to step outside.”

  He squeezed one hand over his wrinkled forehead, a quiet groan eking out of him.

  “I just have to pee,” she whispered. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I know. I’m just tight. You’ve never been on an active op with me before, and it’s made me hyper-alert. That’s all.”

  “You can come if you promise not to watch.”

  “Good idea.” He rounded the truck in record time, opening the driver’s side door.

  Accepting his outstretched hand, Shea climbed off the running board and landed quietly on the mossy ground. “Do you have some tissues?”

  “Sure do.” He pulled a few sheets from his back pocket, a smile barely cracking his face. The crazy guy steered her to a nice big shrub and stood guard while she took care of business. “Do you think someone would kidnap me all the way out here?” she asked once her pants were up and zipped once more.

  He handed her a travel-sized bottle of hand sanitizer. What hadn’t he thought of? “It could happen. I’m not taking chances. Not with you.”

  A little alcohol-based cleanser did the trick. Rubbing her hands together to help it dissipate, Shea gave the bottle back before she took Eric’s hand. “Now you know how I’ll feel when Murphy comes back, and it’s your turn to face Carlson.”

  “I get that, but I’m trained. Like Murphy. If all goes well, those French assassins guarding Jordan will never know what hit ’em.” Eric steered her to the grill where he pulled her back to his front, his arms around her shoulders. “I can’t lose you again,” he whispered in the crook of her neck. “How do you feel this morning?”

  She wiggled her fingers in front of his face. �
��With my hands,” she teased, needing to break him out of his somber mood. “But I can’t lose you, either. What am I supposed to do while you’re gone?”

  “Whatever you do, do NOT put that dress on. I don’t know what the hell Murphy’s thinking. He wouldn’t put Moira in play, and I won’t use you to get to Carlson.”

  Shea gulped. Yeah. It didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. She couldn’t believe she’d thought of it. And yet… “A masquerade ball would be the perfect way to sneak into Ashford.”

  “Maybe,” he said, his fingers absentmindedly smoothing up and down her biceps, warming her in more places than just her arms. She captured his hands to still the heat climbing up her body. It didn’t go unnoticed that he was already aroused.

  The first streaks of dawn glowed in the eastern sky. The smallest birds in the forest had awakened and began chirping. The bigger birds would soon commence, but for now, Shea felt as if she’d awakened in paradise. Pulling in a deep breath of cool morning air, she relaxed against the hard body of the man who always had her back. When she’d let him.

  “We haven’t used any protection,” he murmured, “and we’ve been humping each other like rabbits in early spring. When was your last period?”

  Twisting to face him, she pressed her cheek to his chest. The thought to use protection had honestly not entered her mind. Not with Eric. He’d always been safe, but the thought of another baby and another death stole her breath. “Two weeks ago,” she murmured, the consequence of her actions tiptoeing up her spine with ticklish, scary fingertips.

  Her brain pulled up the necessary facts every woman knew. Mid-cycle. The perfect time to hump like rabbits IF you wanted to get pregnant. She’d been so starved for Eric’s acceptance that she hadn’t thought beyond their initial encounter. It had seemed so impossible for so long.

  A tiny voice whispered, ‘Deep down, you wanted this. Admit it.”

  Maybe…

  She turned in his arms, a hard knot stuck in her throat. “So what if we are?”

  For the first time a smile blossomed inside those stained-glass windows to his soul. “Then I guess we’ll have a brand new baby in our home. You’ll come to live with me in Virginia. We’ll build another life together. Would you like that?”

  One problem solved. Another problem raised. How can I love another child as much as I loved Cheyenne? “I, umm...” She let her doubt trail away. I. Don’t. Know.

  Eric cocked his head, looking deeper into her eyes. She lowered her lashes, her mind full of this newest challenge she’d gotten herself into.

  Folding her inside his arms, he simply held her, his chin at the top of her head. “Think about it, Shea,” he murmured, a tinge of sorrow in his tone. “I know your heart. It’s brave. It’s full of love, and it wants to heal. You have everything inside of you to love another child. Our child. You just have to open your heart and let go.”

  A sob sneaked up on her. She couldn’t speak. Brave was the last thing she was. Only a coward deserted her husband at the worst time in his life. He was the brave one. She was just a foolish woman who’d let grief get the best of her.

  The sound of tapping lifted her teary eyes. Eric turned to look over his shoulder, giving Shea the same view. A tiny bird had lighted on the roof of Murphy’s truck, and whatever bug it found up there, it seemed intent on catching. It scurried to the right, then back to the center, hammering its tiny beak as it went. Tap, tap, tapping to catch its breakfast, which didn’t want to get caught.

  “Life is like that little guy, it will always find a way, baby,” Eric whispered. “Trust me. If we’re pregnant, we’ve been given a second chance to pour some of that bravery of yours into another child. We’ve got another opportunity to be crazy-tired with around the clock feeding, piles of stinky laundry, and gooey burp cloths that never come clean. We get to be grumpy zombies while we adjust to slavery at the hands of a teeny, tiny tyrant who just might scream if we step out of line. It’ll be fun. Call me crazy, but I’m up for it. How ’bout you?”

  She smiled, her fingers absorbing the strength from his sinewy back muscles and her belly noticing the power in the cradle of his hips. The scenario he’d just described did sound familiar and somewhat appealing, all these second chances and lost opportunities. Eric had always gotten up with her when Cheyenne stirred as a newborn. He didn’t just roll over and go back to sleep because he wasn’t the one nursing. No. He made tea. Gave back rubs. Foot rubs. Ensured his girls had company in the wee hours of the night in case they needed anything. He’d said it was his pleasure to serve his queen and his princess.

  Yeah. He was a rarity among men, an honest to goodness white knight.

  Shea swallowed easier. She’d never been alone until she’d done it to herself. No more.

  “What if, umm, it’s a boy this time,” she dared ask, not like it would matter to Eric. It was just a safe segue into what might be.

  His cheeks moved against her scalp. She could tell. Her man was smiling. A. Big. Wide. Jack-O-Lantern smile. “Then, Mama, you’d better sign us guys up for Little League, cuz this boy’s gonna be a slugger just like you.”

  “But what if…” she gulped, afraid to voice the thought.

  “No fucking way,” he whispered. “Odds of another child of ours coming down with Meningioma are so slim, they border on impossible. We’ve been tested, Shea. Neither of us is genetically predisposed toward neurofibromatosis type 2 disorders, so put that worry out of your mind. What happened to Cheyenne was a one-in-a-billion fluke of Mother Nature.”

  That medical-ese tumbled off his tongue like nothing, but lightning did strike in the same place twice. Shea knew it did. She squeezed her eyes tight before her tears could fall. This was why she’d needed Eric to come save her. He’d always believed in her, and if he could look forward with faith, so could she.

  “God, I could eat you up,” she whispered fervently.

  “Trust me, little girl.” He did his best impression of a big bad wolf, the one that used to make Cheyenne squeal with delight. “You’d better get back in the truck before I make damned sure you’re—ahem, we’re—pregnant. Wouldn’t that be something for Murphy to catch us at?”

  Shea giggled, her body and soul on fire for her man. “I’ll bet he’s seen worse.”

  “But he’s never seen better, and he’s not going to now. Besides, there’s something I want to show you.”

  “But, honey,” she teased. “I’ve seen that before.”

  He smacked her ass. Just once. “Not that.”

  Eric knew it would make her or break her, but he hoped for somewhere in between.

  “You’ve had this with you? All this time?” Shea held the metal case with Cheyenne’s pretty picture, her eyes brimmed and her fingers trembling.

  “Yes,” he admitted quietly. “I keep it next to my bed. We talk every night, Cheyenne and me. I ask her to watch over you. She tells me to keep looking for you. Stuff like that.”

  A tiny ‘oh’ squeaked out of Shea. Her tears fell as her fingertip traced the face of their perfect little girl once more. “I didn’t take one with me,” she cried. “And me. You’ve got me in here, too.”

  Okay, this was not what Eric intended, not for Shea to fall apart. Tugging her other fingers to his mouth, he kissed them to distract her. “I just wanted you to know we never forgot you. That we both love you.”

  A hiccup wrenched out of her. “And this key. Is it…?” The saddest turquoise took him by storm.

  “Yes. It’s to the front door of our place on Vashon Island. I never sold it.” I couldn’t. He kissed the knuckle of her first finger. “A nice family’s renting it. They take good care of it. You’d like them.”

  “B-but… but…” And there she stopped, heartbroken—not what he was going for.

  “You know what?” He reached for the box. “This isn’t helping like I thought it would.”

  Angling her shoulder between them, Shea lifted the treasure out of his reach. “But I want it,” she squeaked. “Can I ke
ep it from now on? Please? I won’t lose it.”

  Like she had to ask? What could he say? Not much with the lump in his throat. “It’s already yours, baby.”

  “All this time…” The saddest whine he’d ever heard.

  “And longer,” he promised.

  Shea climbed all over him then, crying and kissing, whining and kissing some more. That was when Eric knew. They were going to be all right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Damn it,” he muttered more to himself than to Shea. “I can’t get into Murphy’s laptop. This thing’s password protected.”

  “Want me to hack into it for you?” she teased, her pretty brows lifted and that sugary-sweet, I-told-you-so-smirk tweaking her cheek. “I could, you know.” One delicate brow arched.

  “Yes, damn it.” Eric handed the device over with a grumble. “I’d like to be on top of all the Tattle Tale feeds as soon as Murphy activates them.”

  Her fingertips were tapping before it settled to her lap. “Just what are these Tattle Tales you guys keep talking about?”

  “Miniscule listening and video devices. Mother’s inventions. She’s a genius, you know.” And so are you, he thought as his wife’s very capable fingers worked magic on the keyboard.

  “Ha. I should’ve guessed. What is it with you guys?” Shea handed the laptop back. “His password is as easy to break as yours. It’s Moira911.”

  Coughing to mask his own internal sap, Eric keyed in the offending code—then entered it again because he’d fat-fingered it the first time.

  Speak of the devil. Murphy ducked from the cover of the nearest tree, hot footing it to his truck. Shea slid out of the driver’s seat to make room as he climbed in, panting but excited. “You haven’t fired that gizmo up yet?”