Page 15 of The Rough Ride

Illusia’s phone vibrated and shimmied down the couch pillow, landing on a purple seat cushion.

She set the bottle of cherry nail lacquer on an end table and glanced at the name on the screen.Pffft…he could kiss her ass.That dweeb military guy she’d been seeing the past two weeks? Let him ring a hundred times. Done with him.Idiot.

Plus, his breath was plain foul.

In just under a year, she’d contacted every veteran on her list. Most of them were losers as far as she was concerned. She’d posed as a journalist looking to write a series on the military stationed in Iraq. Almost all had given her necessary pieces of information like dates, locations, and even a few confidential conversations. She collected facts, steered the small talk, asked questions, and laughed at their bad jokes and one-liners. One thing she’d learned? Vets loved to talk about their time in the service once they had a few beers under their belt.

She’d followed up on vets as far as California, Nebraska, Texas, New York, and Louisiana. It had cost her a chunk ofsavings to trek that far, but she’d had to follow the names she’d found in her brother’s online journal, and that’s where they led.

And none of them had any idea they’d been selected for a mission greater than themselves. Every detail they’d revealed added to her cause, justified the means, and brought her another step closer to revenge.

Except for Sergeant Nick Flannery. A real tight-ass who hadn’t relaxed one iota until she instructed the bartender to keep the beers coming at twenty-minute intervals. She’d slipped a fifty in the barkeep’s tip jar as a thank you.

Even then, the first two beers hadn’t softened the good-looking sergeant’s tongue or demeanor. He’d hardly given her the time of day, focusing on the music and ordering a cheeseburger platter. Out of patience and running out of cash, Illusia picked up the third round of beers at the bar herself and lacedhiswith a full dropper ofSuper Spanish Fly. Not the cheap stuff. The trademarked brand with a money-back guarantee.

Not to worry—she’d needed a good boning, anyway.

She wasn’t a heathen.Of course,she felt badwhen she read the directions on the bottle of aphrodisiac the next day. Five drops would’ve been plenty to command his attention. But she couldn’t stand there at the bar counting drops withoutsomebodynoticing. And so, the sergeant with the broad shoulders, tasteful tats, who kept himself in shape, and was a gentleman? He’d been insatiable.

But hewasa distant lover. He mutteredthat woman’sname when it counted, but she didn’t give a crap. He’d stayed tight-lipped with his military stories but sure knew his way around a woman’s body. And when the Spanish fly wore off, he’d passed out cold for hours. She’d cloned his phone (just in case)and tiptoed out of the room with heels in hand minutes before dawn.

Illusia sighed.So sorry to see that one go.He was worth the effort and price of a DC hotel room.

She’d marked him hoping he’d think of her when he whipped that bad boy out the next time. Make him gun-shy with other ladies for a while. She smiled to herself.There was nothing wrong with being memorable.

She finished the second coat to her nails and waved her hands back and forth.Shit.She’d forgotten to turn on the TV before she applied the polish. Now, she’d have to miss half her show because the freaking remote always dinged at least one glossy finger. These nails were important. She had to look professional.

She stood and paced. Getting primped and pretty for the business world sucked big time, but the bank account needed replenishment. She couldn’t touch the offshore savings for a few more months and had to be careful with the identity theft. The last thing she needed were detectives ringing her doorbell. She had to blend in like the illusion she was and be a respectable renter in her gated condo community.

Illusia sighed long and hard. Sometimes, when she looked in the mirror, she couldn’t see the woman she’d been two years ago. But that was the grief talking. She hadn’t spent nine months in the womb and a lifetime afterwards with a twin brother to lose him one day in supposed service to his country. Not when his journal stated otherwise. And she’d located the decision maker who caused his death.

They’d pay with their blood.

She’d make absolutely sure of it.

12

Nick stubbed a toe trying to get across the pitch-black bedroom to answer his phone. He cursed the contractor who had neglected to fix the electrical outlet by the bed.Fix it myself.Nah—he valued his life. Merciful God, his foot hurt. He grabbed the phone. “Yeah, Nick here.”

“Dude, it’s Derek. Maggie’s in labor. We’re on our way to the hospital. Get a hold of Mason to cover for me at the Richardson’s today. I gotta go.”

Nick was fully awake now. Maggie’s voice in the background urged Derek to stop driving over every pothole, followed by a moan.

“No problem, D. You guys go have yourselves a healthy baby. Give Maggie my love.” He disconnected the call and plopped into the red leather chair by the window, glancing at the clock radio. It was 4:15 a.m.

It had been a smooth first week with the senator’s family. Derek melded right in, and the kids loved him. Aside from the crew manning the Richardson’s 24/7, another technician pickedup the work debugging Georgetown restaurants. Nick had gained nine restaurants in three days once word got out about the number of surveillance pieces he’d found at The Town Crier.

Nobody was irreplaceable but Derek came pretty close.

He’d have to shift Derek’s workload to Mason. Mason was a good guy. Not as warm and fuzzy with kids, but he had a sense of humor and solid security instincts.

There’d be no going back to sleep now. He tossed the duvet over the bed and paused to imagine Liz curled in the middle, right where she liked to sleep.

It’d been a long time since they’d spent a night together. Paris, actually. Almost two years now. Hopefully, she’d give some thought to their recent conversation during dinner. Try to believe in them enough to give their relationship a chance. They’d always promised each other when they left the service, they’d see if forever belonged in their future. He rubbed the center of his chest. It always ached when he thought about Liz maybe wanting someone else.

He fisted the pillows into shape and lined them up against the headboard. His version of making the bed made Liz laugh. She liked it tucked in real neat, decorative pillows arranged up top, and a nap afghan arranged just so on the bottom corner. He stopped and took a picture of the bed. Maybe he’d text it to her. Remind her she could arrange the space however she liked.

Aww…hell.He’d settle to have her between his sheets so he could hear the little snore she’d developed after a zealous fist broke her nose in a volleyball game senior year. How he missed the light scent of her perfume and the way her round derriere snuggled into his core and made him hard in an instant.

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