Page 62 of Long Past Deadly

Mackey stared across the street at the blues, oranges, and yellows of a street mural, the intent of the piece either an important message or nonsensical fuckery. He didn’t care enough to analyze. The Mercer manhunt pushed people indoors to safety, yet the neighborhood was tense and watchful. Random police cars rolled by, reinforcing yesterday’s threat and leaving a false sense of safety behind.

He never defined himself as more than a crazy, lethal warrior until he planned QM with Quaid. To become a guardian took more persistence and grit than Delta School because warriors win fights. Period. Guardians make sure people survive them.

The world was dangerous, and when it failed to protect the vulnerable, well, that’s when his fighting sense came to fore. Living with violence, performing it even, as he had, meant you constantly fought becoming the thing you fought against. If Alanna was right, Mercer stood on that murderous line before he’d hit the military and had no problem with the blood on his hands. That insulted, too.

Delaney exited the smoke shop and moved silently his way. His black QM shirt, pants, and shoes blended with the surroundings. The tense posture matched, too. Mackey straightened. “What?”

The man leaned against the bumper and adjusted the sling holding his fixed arm in place. “I wish I still smoked.”

Mackey snorted. “Never started. Doesn’t fly on clandestine operations. What?”

“A hint, maybe.”

Mackey tossed his toothpick in the gutter. “Tell.”

“Rumors. Sanctuary. Church. Which one? Unknown. Six in this neighborhood alone.” The recitation stayed neutral, but the spark in his eyes signaled hope.

“So we visit Jesus, and we find him.” Mackey rounded the vehicle, took another long look at the street, and got in.

Delaney was already fastening his seatbelt. “After that big manhunt, he’ll make himself scarce.”

“Yep. But that gives us time to have Operations do a thorough search of likely sources and get us a list. Let’s be methodical. Yes?”

Delaney nodded. “I need sleep or Dr. Hunter is going to yell at me.”

“Waffles and shut eye, then.”

Delaney groaned. “I approve this message, sir.”

Chapter Thirteen

Quaid eased up the stairs with two coffees on a tray and went to Alanna’s door. He didn’t have the smooth moves Niles had, but she was still asleep, and he had an irrational need to be the only one in her bedroom. How he’d gotten so dissatisfied with his lonely bed after sleeping with her once was a thought he couldn’t tackle. She was still in his house, across the hall, obviously no dreams this time, and probably trying to sort out why he’d kissed her goodbye last night. First kiss to devouring kiss showed a lack of control on his part and a shift in intimacy for both of them. She’d kissed him back.

After midnight, he’d received a work alert from QM’s second in command in Operations, Casey Miner. He had to return to the office. A protection detail in Dubai had run into a serious security risk and needed to exit the client and the four man team from the country as rapidly as possible amidst bombing activity. Quaid had questioned serving this client from the beginning, but the rich and famous trusted him, and he knew Dubai from high school, college, and the CIA.

He wasn’t a big fan of the Patton hotel there, but it became a safe space for the team to wait until exfil could be arranged. With friends arguing with friends and enemies attacking enemies, it wasn’t a good time to hang with strangers for a money deal when you had no knowledge of what they fundamentally believed. If only this client practiced the same logic.

Instead, he’d put at risk four of their people. A two-hour flight from Dubai to Riyadh was the simplest with a Saudi Arabia non-stop connection to New York. The timing sucked. The architecture and culture of the Patton hotel might not be his favorite, but the staff was stellar. While they gave him every option possible, he drank diet coke and replayed kissing Alanna.

Now, he stood at her door, dithering. Playboy Quaid who had all the moves had none. The door opened before he could decide between walking away or knocking.

Alanna’s neutral expression he recognized from their day one meeting, and he made friends again by lifting her coffee.

“Good morning.”

She took the mug and walked back into her room. He followed. Her bed was rumpled, pillows laying in all directions, with clothes scattered on the bed. “Are you just getting home?”

“No. I got a few hours sleep.”

“Problem?”

“Yes, not with this case, with a protection detail in the Middle East.”

Her brow rose, but she didn’t ask. With Navy slacks, blue and white striped shirt, dark hair braided, she looked beautiful and rested. She set her coffee cup down without sipping, took the tray from him, and slid it next to her cup. She came to him then, cupped his face, and kissed him, catching him between apology and confusion.

God, her mouth was soft. And she smelled so good. He should slow this, but her sweet lips were in stark contrast to his experience, and he loved it. Given her background, he expected tentative and got the Wildcat instead. He backed her against the closet door and shifted his mouth, desperate to learn textures, tastes, and tingles. She moaned, slipped her hands into his hair, and held his head in place while she mimicked what he was doing. Every disciplined part of him failed.

“Lani,” he whispered against her mouth.