"I want the bastard who's using my clubs to kill women," Drage snarled with cold fury. "Killing men who could lead me to him in my parking lot won't help my cause much, my friend."
"Find Diego Fuentes and you'll find your problem," Clint bit out, ignoring the surprise in the other man's eyes. "Now get out of my way and let me collect my little stash there and I'll head on out."
"Fuentes is dead." Drage ignored his order. "He was taken out a year ago by the Colombian army."
"Actually, his cartel was busted by mine and Reno's units," Clint sneered. "Fuentes evidently escaped. This drug was his and his little wife's brainchild. Trust me, Fuentes is alive, and I don't have a whole lot of time to get back to Morganna and get the hell out of here. One of her suspects, Roberto Manuelo, is one of his highest henchmen. Follow him, you'll find Fuentes."
"Is that wise, Clint?" Jayne Smith spoke up. "Running won't capture him; you'll always be looking over your shoulder."
"Don't fuck with me," he snapped, caressing the trigger of the gun. "The bastard nearly ambushed us at a party earlier. He took out one of my men in Colombia and he hit another last night. I have a damned itchy trigger finger right now, so don't push me, Smith."
"Fuck!" Drage pushed his fingers roughly through his hair as he gave his head of security a pointed look before turning back to Clint. "Bring Morganna here, Clint. Let him believe you're still accessible. Draw him out where you'll have your back covered."
"Covered?" Clint arched his brow. "Aren't you the one whose men can't even catch the bastards working this drug? And don't tell me you haven't figured out that the DEA team working this little game has a mole, Drage. I thought you were quicker than that."
"We know, and we are very close to cracking his identity," Smith revealed, her voice as cold as a winter night. "Bail out now and Fuentes will go looking for you. Continue this operation and I'll cover your back personally, Clint. We find the mole and he will lead us to Fuentes. Whoever he's paying off would have direct access to him. You know the control freak he is. He wouldn't allow anyone else to work this for him. It would be too important to him."
She was right, as much as Clint hated to admit it. Because no way in hell was he putting Morganna's life on the line any further.
"No."
"Jesus, Clint, you're losing your objectivity here," Drage snarled. "You're letting your emotions cloud your judgment. You know we're right. Fuentes has stepped up his efforts to refinance his cartel. He'll take you and Morganna out the first chance he has just for the hell of it now. Let his own ego take him down. Work with me here."
"And I'm supposed to trust you for what reason?" he growled. "Weren't you the one preparing to sponsor my woman, Drage? That was confidence-inspiring."
"It got you off your ass and into her bed, though, didn't it?" Drage shot back. "I don't believe in running from your demons, Clint. Perhaps I was helping you face yours."
"Well, thank you all to fucking hell and back," Clint snarled furiously. "Did I ask for your help?"
"Consider it a favor between friends." Drage waved o: the sarcastic remark with a mocking flip of his hand as his lips flattened with his own anger. "We have the master suite downstairs. I can circulate the rumor that you have tired of her defiance and you're using the suite to complete her training. No one would doubt it except Fuentes. He would attempt to hit you here. To do so, he would have to use the mole he has within Merino's team. This way, we both get what we want, and you aren't running alone. Fuentes could have a damned army backing him. Don't be a fool with Morganna's life."
Clint had a nice little cabin deep in the mountains, secluded, sheltered. He had taken great pains to keep it secret. but he knew the information could be had. He had intended to run there with Morganna, to hide her as far from danger as possible. But would she be safer there, where he couldn't face the enemy?
"Clint, they raped and tortured friends of ours. These women they're striking have done nothing to deserve what they found at this bastard's hands," Jayne's voice echoed with a killing chill. "We would have betrayed you already if that was what we meant to do. Let's help each other."
They were right, and he fucking hated it.
"They won't expect the security system I have in place in the private rooms," Drage continued. "You'll have the suite to yourself for the week. You can make your appearance in the bar each night and taunt him with the fact that you're killing his men off and that you're unafraid of the threat he represents. If you run, you're giving him the upper hand."
"Dammit, I know that," he snarled. "This is Morganna. Drage. She's as predictable as lightning-"
"She's smart, and she's careful. You haven't watched her the past months as I have." His lips quirked faintly. "Her brother has entrusted me with her care for nearly two years, Clint, and I am the eyes and ears that allowed her to work this operation for the past six months. Trust me, if I didn't think she could carry this off, then I would be helping you to cart her out of state." Okay, that made better sense. Clint knew Reno was well acquainted with Drage and Jayne. He hadn't expected this, but as he thought about it, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Which also explained the fact that Raven was able to monitor and block the calls to Reno's cell phone. This was the only way Reno would have allowed it.
God, he was going to kill Reno. He could have at least warned him.
"Shit!" He raked his fingers through his hair in a gesture of complete frustration.
Everything inside him was screaming out in rejection of the idea. Every possessive instinct in his body was demanding that he cart his woman off and hide her as far away from this shit as possible.
"You need backup for this, Clint," Jayne inserted. "You know you do. If we work together, we can finish Fuentes for good." Bloodlust echoed in Jayne Smith's voice, causing Clint to stare back at her with hard intent. "They nearly had me, McIntyre," she revealed, her lips tilted mockingly. 'Trust me, that drug is no fun, and had they managed to get me out of the club I was in that night, I would nave never lived to find vengeance. Now I want vengeance." The flash of fury in her eyes, the cold set of her expression, combined with Drage's sudden tension, convinced Clint. He hated it. If there was anything he hated more than blowing Morganna anywhere near the danger swirling around this club, then he couldn't imagine it. But they were right. Eventually, Fuentes would find him in the mountains. He couldn't keep watch 24-7 on his own and he couldn't ask Reno to leave his sister right now and help him.
"I need a car," he bit out. "I have her hid for now. I'll collect her and bring her back here. You." He pointed his finger fiercely back at the two of them. "Had better have your shit together. Because if anything happens to Morganna, there won't be a hole you can hide in deep enough to save you. Man or woman, I'll kill you."
"He's so fierce." Jayne shivered mockingly. "I bet I could teach Morganna how to tame him, though."
"Tsk, tsk, kitten," Drage murmured. "Let's not tempt an explosion until we're in safer quarters."
Shit, they reminded Clint of Morganna. Was this where she had learned her smart-mouth tendencies or had she taught them to Smith? He didn't doubt she had.
"You can use my car." Smith pulled a set of keys free of the snug pocket of her leather pants and tossed them to him. "It's completely secure and parked in the underground garage I'll be waiting for you at the back door when you return and we'll get her inside safe and sound. Let's do this and do it right, Clint. Then we'll all be safe."
He caught the keys in his free hand as he finally allowed himself to breathe in deeply. He didn't like admitting to the terror that had crawled through his system when he realized how easily Markwell had been taken out. He had been one of the best. A fully trained Navy SEAL warrior with the reflexes and instincts that only sheer talent for the job and hard training could instill. Fuentes wouldn't be easy to take out. If Clint could at least manage to wound his network enough to find that lab, then they could defang him for a while, if nothing else.
"How do we work Merino?" C
lint asked then.
Jayne Smith smiled easily. "We tell him the truth, of course. You aren't comfortable with the attacks on Morganna or the fact that one of your men has been taken out, so you're going to work from here. We'll work with him and see what Fuentes' next move is. In the meantime, I'll have a tag put on each of Joe's men and see what happens. It won't take long."
No, it wouldn't. Fuentes had shown how desperate he was get his hands on Morganna. He would make his move soon. "I'll be back tomorrow night." Clint nodded his head. "I need to sleep a few hours and get a few things together. Do what you have to on this end." Drage straightened from the bar, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"We'll have everything in place, Clint. I look forward to working with you."
Yeah, Clint just bet he did. The son of a bitch didn't count success from the amount of money he made but rather from contacts he could call in. Clint wasn't a man who liked to beholden. But in this case, he was also a desperate man because he knew if anything happened to Morganna, if the fire that burned in her eyes were to ever dim, then Fuentes wouldn't have to kill him. The grief alone would.
Chapter 21
HE DROVE BACK TOWARD Mace's neighborhood in the leather comfort of Jayne's steel blue Z4 BMW Roadster. it wasn't the extravagance of the car, the smell of warm leather, or the ride he would have enjoyed at any other time that filled his head.
He thought of the friends he had lost to Fuentes' damned network. Nathan Malone, "Irish." He had fallen during the mission in Colombia.
His death had been a hard blow. Nathan was a good friend, but with his death Clint had seen what was left behind. Nathan's young wife had been destroyed. Clint remembered seeing her at Nathan's memorial service, her eyes vacant and hollow, her face as pale as death.
She had worshipped Nathan, just as Nathan had worshipped her.
And Devin Markwell. Hell, he was one of the best fighters the SEALs had ever produced. His body was an efficient, highly trained weapon, yet he had been taken out.
It didn't make sense. Fuentes couldn't know who had taken out his compound. That wasn't possible. Even the Navy hadn't listed their names for that mission. Unless Nathan was alive. It was the only answer.
Clint leaned his head against the backrest, feeling weariness drag at him. He was damned tired. Tired of the missions, the deaths. It had begun with Irish's death. Seeing the horror and grief on his young wife's face had started the cycle. Now- God, Clint didn't think he could do it anymore. If they managed to take Fuentes out this time, then it might be time to pack it in. Clint was thirty-five years old and felt eighty. He had two more years before he could claim his retirement. Maybe it was time he began considering that.
And then there was Morganna.
He had left her with one of the biggest womanizers he had ever laid his eyes on. Mace was dependable, a hell of a brute fighter, and loyal as hell when it came to the battle. But he liked women. Loved women. As many as he could get his hands on.
And Morganna had been madder than hell, furious that Clint had left her. He remembered clearly the fights between his parents before his father went off on a mission. Terrible screaming matches that would run for hours on end before
Clint's father slammed out of the house and headed out for war. And Clint's mother headed out for a round of parties night after night, man after man. Could he handle it? he wondered. Hell no, everything inside him screamed out in fury. If Mace touched Morganna, Clint didn't know if he could contain his rage.
His hands clenched on the steering wheel as he pulled into the open garage door and waited for the door to close and the interior lights to blaze on. He knew better than to step out of the car before Mace knew who was there.
When the lights flickered, Clint opened the door and raised his long frame out of the vehicle before moving for the door.
His fists were clenched, his jaw bunched so tight he could reel his molars grinding. Could he survive another man touching her after he'd had her? Would he lose his mind as his father had?
Clint shook his head as he moved through the house, feeling the weight of his fears bearing down on his shoulders as he fought to make sense of the soul-deep tiredness filling him.
The wall section slid open as he neared it, assuring him that no matter what may have happened through the night, Mace was watching.
"Thank God!"
Clint's hands automatically wrapped around the small body that threw itself into him no sooner than he'd stepped to the staircase landing.
As the wall slid closed, Morganna was sobbing against his chest, her hands running over his shoulders, his back.
"Are you hurt?" Her voice was hoarse as the words tumbled from her lips, demanding, fierce. "If you managed to get your ass hurt, I'll skin you alive."
"Bloodthirsty wretch." He inhaled the scent of her. He could smell his own darker scent beneath the sweet, clean smell that was so much a part of Morganna.
She still wore the skirt and corset, though she had kicked off her shoes. Leaning back from him, she let her gaze go over him, her misty eyes shadowed with worry and a hint of anger.
"I am so mad at you." She slapped at his shoulder as she pushed away from him and stalked back down the stairs. "You just run off like Rambo...." Her words trailed back to him as she stomped into the main room. "All gung ho and tough and you leave me just sitting here twiddling my fingers. This is not going to work, Glint."
Did he smell food? Real food? Mace could cook, but what Clint smelled wafting up the staircase was pure heaven in the form of pancakes and maple syrup. But where was Mace?
Clint moved down the staircase, wary as he stepped from the enclosed stairwell. Mace was sitting across the room by his computers, his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Clint.
Lifting his brow, Clint turned to stare back into the kitchen area where Morganna was muttering to herself.
"Everything okay?" he asked the other man.
Mace glared harder.
"Go ahead and answer him," Morganna snapped. "He's back now; I'm sure he can protect you." She sounded a bit upset.
"That woman is trouble in progress," Mace suddenly said. "I swear to God, you go off and leave me alone with again and I'll kill you. You won't have to worry about Fuentes." He swung around in his chair then and hunched over keyboard of his computer, his fingers striking the keys. “What did you do, Morganna?" Clint sighed, moving to a good look at her. She was flat-out furious. If possible, was more pissed now than she had been when he left. I didn't do anything." She propped her hands on her hips as a feminine little sneer curled her lips. "But he doesn't seem to know where his stupid hands belong-"
“Ah hell, just get me fucking killed, why don't you." Mace jumped from his chair, staring back at Clint wild-eyed, "I swear to God, it was harmless. I didn't mean nothing by it, Clint."
Clint took a deep breath. The fury that should have been re was overshadowed by confusion. Mace looked almost scared, and Morganna was in killing mode. "Look, you don't have to kill me. That damned little witch of yours nearly shoved my balls into my stomach. I didn't mean a damned thing by it. It was harmless."
"He patted my ass!" Her voice was a low, snarling growl she pointed a shaking finger at him. "He patted my ass!" She was shaking with feminine outrage. Clint blinked back at her, wondering if he should shake head to get his bearings here. "Mace pets every woman's ass." He gave in and shook his head as he looked between two of them. "He's a Romeo."
"He's an alley cat," she snapped. "And he can keep his damned hands off my ass. No one touches my ass."
"I do," Clint pointed out. Something wasn't clicking here, just wasn't certain what it was.
Morganna lowered her chin and gave him the "moron" look, as he and Reno had always dubbed it. The droll glare, the slightest arch to her brows as her lips thinned in irritation.
"For the moment, you have permission," she said sarcastically. "He," she pointed her finger imperiously, "does not."
"Don't worry,". Mace growled back wi
th no small amount of ire. "He can keep your ass. I was just being nice."
"Then keep it to yourself." She glared back. "And the stupid pancakes are done if either of you would care to eat them. Now that Rambo has returned, I need a shower." Then she frowned again. "Did you at least bring me some clothes?"
He lifted the small duffel in his hands out to her silently. He still hadn't figured out what had happened, but her face brightened, her lips trembling just for a moment before she pounced on the bag. She pulled it from his hand and unzipped it quickly.
"Yes! Comfies," she sighed, clutching the soft cotton pi pants and the loose T-shirt to her breasts. "God, I love you."
Before he had time to comment she was rushing to the other side of the room and disappearing into the bedroom. Clint turned back to Mace, who, being no one's dummy, was tearing into the homemade pancakes with a rumble of glee.
"Want to tell me what just happened here?" Clint queried as he moved to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk before snagging a glass from the counter and sitting down at the table.
"Woman's insane," Mace muttered around a mouthful of pancakes and syrup. "Swear to God. She was crying like a baby, Clint. Damned woman can't even sob. Just these silent tears and that lip trembling. She was breaking my heart. I had to just hug her, man." His fork was poised halfway to his plate as he stared back at Clint in bemusement. "Ought to kick your ass for making her cry like that. But I just hugged her and patted her butt at the same time. Next thing I know I'm on the floor with my balls choking me." He glared at Clint again. "She's deranged. Told me to get in my damned corner and not to make the mistake of speaking to her again or she'd take a knife to me. I didn't speak." He shook his head, his expression frankly disturbed. "I haven't spoke for ours, Clint."