Street Game by Christine Feehan
"You know, boss, so far, he hasn't reported anything at all about any of us or what we've done. He's actually painting a rosier picture than he's had it with us. These letters are short and more reassuring, like a kid writing home rather than reporting. Unless he has a code I can't see."
Jaimie shook her head. "I don't see any pattern. I think they're just letters."
"Why would he hide them behind an elaborate security system?" Mack asked, coming up behind Jaimie and dropping his hands on her shoulders. His fingers dug into her sore muscles, massaging the tension from her. His touch was firm, but very gentle, as always. For all his enormous strength, Mack was always gentle. "Why would he be writing Sergeant Major?" Mack asked. "Come on, Jaimie, you're smart. You've read a few. Who is he? What's he saying? Why the sergeant major? You're an analyst. Analyze."
"Well, the tone of the letters is very careful. He's watching what he's saying, not wanting to reveal too much. Is he happy? Sad? Upset that he's where he is? Or upset that he's having to make reports? Some of it is very genuine. He mentions a couple of funny things with Gideon and Ethan, and there's a trace of affection in the way he words it, as if both men mean something to him. I think he's trying to portray that he fits in, that he's comfortable where he is. Like letters a kid might write home from a summer camp to a parent."
Silence descended as all three let that sink in. The clock ticked out a rhythm. A heartbeat. Mack closed his eyes briefly. "Jaimie. Talk to me, honey."
She moistened her lips, glanced at Javier, and then turned. "I think he's Sergeant Major's son. He never addresses him as anything but 'sir,' but based on these short letters back and forth between them, I'd have to say, the contents, coupled with the fact that he kept them protected rather than deleting them, say they're related, most likely father and son."
Mack slammed both palms flat on the desk, swearing between his teeth. "What the hell is going on here, Jaimie?" She'd always been his sounding board for as long as he could remember, with her quick brain and sharp intelligence. She could see patterns faster than anyone he knew. She could put together puzzles so quickly computers could barely keep up.
Jaimie bit down on her lip. Mack never hesitated asking her opinion. Never. Even if he knew he wouldn't like her answer. He listened to her, respected her. She knew he did. One time he hadn't listened, and she'd left--walked out on him. He'd been upset. His men had been wounded. He'd nearly been killed. They'd walked into a trap. She'd blamed him for leading them there, and yet, she was just as much to blame. They all were. But in the end, they'd let Mack shoulder the responsibility for it, just as they always did. The others let it go, but she hadn't. She'd accused him, and then she'd walked out when he didn't respond.
She dropped her head in her hands, rubbing at her pounding temples. Instantly Mack's fingers were on her scalp, massaging her head, in an effort to ease the ache. "Are you tired, honey? Maybe we should lay this down for a while. You could sleep a few hours and look it over with fresh eyes."
"I'm okay. Let me go through all of these. I'm reading through Sergeant Major's replies as well. I might find something else."
"I have to agree with Jaimie here," Javier said. "It doesn't make a lot of sense, but either he has the best code in the world, or he's simply writing Griffen a few lines a day, in a way that would tell the sergeant major that he was okay. Everyday stuff."
"What about the times Kane and Brian were sent out and I ordered you and Ethan and Gideon to go as backup? He wanted to go the last time."
"I checked for letters during those dates," Javier said, "and nothing changed. He never once mentioned the mission or any of the men. He didn't say he was disappointed for not going. He skipped a day, but that wasn't unusual."
"His skipped days don't necessarily correspond with your missions," Jaimie said. "I thought of that and checked."
"Could something be buried in the letters we're not seeing?" Mack asked.
Javier snorted and Jaimie gave him a quick, flashing smile. Mack threw his hands into the air. "Okay, okay, I'll shut up. It's just that . . ."
Hell. He liked the kid. He thought of Sergeant Major not only as a good friend, but perhaps a favorite uncle. Contemplating killing both men was not pleasant. And if they were father and son--and the kid was innocent--how was he going to kill Sergeant Major and live with the son? Either way, Griffen had to answer for the suicide missions.
"Damn it, Jaimie."
"I'm doing the best I can, Mack." Her voice was soothing. "I know this is upsetting, but don't think about it until the facts are in."
He knew his mouth gaped open. It was the last thing he expected out of her mouth. Condemnation maybe. But quiet support? She knew what was at stake. What the hell had changed her mind? He would never understand women as long as he lived--at least not Jaimie.
He took up his pacing again. He'd just been handed the biggest asset a GhostWalker team could have--a psychic surgeon--yet he'd been kept in the dark. Would the boy have come forward in combat if there was an injury? Paul had been antsy the moment Gideon had stepped into the room. His hands had begun a complicated and obsessive-compulsive pattern, as if his entire body was already psychically tuned to the suffering man. What would have happened if he'd been exposed to Jaimie after she used her talent? Why hadn't Sergeant Major, or Paul, revealed his talent so he could be used when he clearly so needed to heal?
Mack rubbed his forehead. He hated mysteries.
CHAPTER 13
It was late into the night before Jaimie and Javier were satisfied they could find nothing more from the letters. If there was a code, it was a brilliant one they couldn't decipher, and Jaimie couldn't accept that Paul or his father would be able to create anything she couldn't at least get a glimmer of. Maybe it was arrogance, but she'd never failed to see a pattern, even a small one, and she couldn't detect one now.
She pushed back her chair and rubbed at her eyes. "I've got the computer analyzing the e-mails, searching for something we may have missed, but I think we've got everything we're going to out of these letters."
Mack wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her body into his, letting his warmth seep into her shivering body. She hadn't even realized the temperature was dropping in the room. "Are you both still going with the theory that Paul is Sergeant Major's son?"
Jaimie put her head back against his chest. "I say definitely. If not, Griffen raised him."
"I'm going with Jaimie on this one, boss," Javier agreed. "There was no 'dad' or 'son' or outward sign of affection, but it was in the feel of it. And why the hell keep the letters at all? He's a kid missing his family."
"His last name is Mangan, not Griffen. His mother is Shiobhan Mangan. She's an ambassador's daughter, a very diplomatic family. She's the current Irish ambassador. He's an American citizen and his file says he was raised here with an aunt. His father is Theodore Greystone. Not Griffen."
Mack snapped his fingers, irritated with himself. "Griffen comes from money," he said. "Old money, some blueblood family from the South. I remember seeing a spread in a magazine once and his family had an old plantation dating back years. The name of the plantation was Greystone. I thought at the time that it fit. The columns were all made of huge gray stones and it made an impression on me."
"What are you going to do?" Jaimie asked.
"Don't either of you say anything to him." He turned his head and pressed a kiss against her temple. "Thanks, Jaimie. I hope to God you're right over this. I like the kid."
"You gonna kiss me too, boss?" Javier asked.
"If you want. Right on the lips," Mack offered.
"I'll pass just this once. Wouldn't want Jaimie to get jealous." Javier winked at him, kissed Jaimie's cheek, and sauntered up the stairs as if he hadn't been up half the night.
"You're very fond of that man," Mack said.
"Very," she acknowledged. "And so are you."
"He worries me," Mack admitted. "They all do, but Javier is entirely unpredictable. There's no way of knowing
"You saved his life, Mack. A long time ago, on the streets, he could have gone either way. You pulled him into your circle, and he made the decision to follow your lead. He would have been a criminal."
"He didn't have much of a chance."
"He's always been different. You gave him a moral code. He didn't have that until you came along." She turned her head and looked up at him. "When you talk to me, Mack, sometimes you make me crazy, but I want to try again. Read some books on communicating with women, that's my only advice to you, because you suck at it."
A slow smile accompanied the slow burning deep in his groin. She was so beautiful to him. So sexy. She didn't even have to try very hard. "Now's not the time to give me good news, honey, not with all the boys camping out in our bedroom."
"Everything is not about sex."
His eyebrow shot up. "It's not?"
Jaimie laughed and shook her head, turning to cut off his step before he made it to the stairs. She circled his neck with her arms. "I'm sorry. For earlier. For accusing you."
He settled his hands at her waist, his heart squeezing down hard like a vise. "Don't think I won't do it if I have to, Jaimie. That's part of who I am. I won't like it, but if I have to put a gun to his head and pull the trigger to save everyone else, I'd do it. You have to know who and what I am. This time, I want you to know who you're loving."
Her heart jumped at the word. He rarely if ever used the L word, certainly not to her. "I know. If I told you I missed you every hour of every day, what would you say to that?"
"I'd say you couldn't possibly have missed me more than I missed you. You tore out my heart, Jaimie. Don't do it again. I'm not going to be perfect at this. I'd rather you snap me out of it some way. Kick me in the shins. Punch me. Get my attention. But don't walk out on me when I'm being dense."
She touched her tongue to her bottom lip, a sign he recognized as being nervous. Mack kissed her. Hard. Long. With his heart and soul. He never wanted her nervous when she talked to him. She could twist him up inside like no one else could and maybe that did set his teeth on edge, but he'd pay that price if it meant having her. Keeping her. Waking up every morning to her. He wanted to grow old with her. He wanted her there by his side when he died.
The problem with kissing her was it caused other much more intense reactions. His body immediately made urgent demands, hot and hard, and so painfully full he could barely stand the touch of his jeans. Worse, there was no way to stop kissing her once he started. He devoured her mouth, loving the velvet heat and the way she tasted.
His hand slipped beneath her shirt to cup her breasts. "I can barely stand not touching you," he whispered. "I love your skin. The way you taste. Your mouth." He bit on her lower lip, tugged, and then teased with his tongue. "You've got me hurting like hell, baby."
"I do?" She reached down to slide her hand over the thick bulge in his jeans. "How very unfair of me."
He buried his face in the hollow of her shoulder. "I'm so tired, Jaimie. Sometimes I wonder what the hell I'm doing." He whispered the words into her stillness, her peace. Jaimie was his haven, the only refuge he had, and he'd been lost without her. Without her quick wit and ready smile, the devotion in her eyes and her soft, sweet, welcoming body. She seemed magic and she could wipe out every ugly thing in his life. "I need you, Jaimie. Right now, baby."
To make him forget the image of pulling out his gun, putting it to Paul's head, and pulling the trigger. He would have done it himself, never putting it on one of his men to carry the burden. Just the thought that he could have done it sickened him. He wanted to forget what kind of man he was. Not one who would plan the death of a friend or an untried kid on his team. He wanted to lose himself in the magic of her body and just be hers.
Jaimie heard the need, the ache, in his voice. This wasn't about wild, uninhibited sex. This was something altogether different. She framed his face with her hands and looked into his eyes--eyes full of shadows and guilt. She tipped her head and pressed kisses along his mouth and throat, giving herself to him. Offering herself. A gift. She opened his shirt and kissed her way over the heavy muscles, her hands on the front of his jeans, parting the material.
She heard his soft groan as she circled the impressive girth, her fingers stroking caresses over familiar territory. Before she could kneel, he caught the hem of her shirt.
"I have to look at you," he whispered, that hoarse edge stealing into his tone, the one she loved. He yanked her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor. Catching her around her back, he urged her into him, bending her nearly backward as he unhooked her bra, spilling her breasts into the night air.
He buried his face in the soft, warm mounds, kissing her, breathing her in. He could hear the blood rushing like a drug through his veins. His heart pounded hard. There was no way a man like him, so dark inside, so lost, could find a way out of his own skin. Jaimie with her unreserved generosity could take him into paradise. He turned his head and flicked a taut nipple with his tongue. Of course her body responded. She always responded. She always gave to him no matter what he asked.
"Everything," he whispered and took possession of her breast, driving her up fast as only he knew how to do. The flicks of his tongue, the edge of his teeth. Suckling hard and then gently. Giving attention to both breasts until she was nearly sobbing.
"Let me," she pleaded.
"Are you sure?"
"Let me," she said again.
He lifted his head from her soft enticing body. Her eyes were liquid, her breath coming in ragged gasps, lifting her breasts in time to her rough breathing. Her mouth was exquisite. Sexy. Pure fantasy.
"I want you in my mouth," she said, her voice a sensual plea.
He knew she was doing it for him, but he could believe her when she looked at him like that, as if bringing him pleasure was the most important thing in her world.
"I love the taste and feel of you. I missed you, Mack, missed all that power filling my mouth and throat."
He was going to embarrass himself just listening to her voice, the ache there. The need and desire. Keeping her gaze locked with his, she slowly knelt, sliding his jeans from his hips. His cock was hard, jerking in anticipation, already leaking small droplets. There was nothing sexier than a beautiful woman, bare breasted, hair in disarray, looking at up at a man with a wealth of love and wanton lust in her expression.
His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her, of his Jaimie, so ready to enjoy pleasing him. He had dreamt of this, night after night. Of her eyes. Her mouth. Her soft, feminine curves. He couldn't begin to think of taking another woman. There was only Jaimie, with the pads of her fingers working magic on his cock. Stroking flames over his sensitive skin.
She leaned forward and he watched, mesmerized, as her tongue slid out and she licked him like an ice cream cone. His entire body shuddered in reaction. Her mouth engulfed him, her tongue sliding over the crown and then teasing the underneath. She knew exactly what he needed, every spot. Every stroke. He had been the one to teach her. She'd been so inexperienced then, and she looked just as innocent now, a tempting, beautiful innocent seducing him with her mouth.
He watched her through hooded lids, unable to take his eyes from the sight of her. Loving him. Lavishing attention on him. Giving him the priceless gift of herself. Jaimie didn't just suck his cock to get it over with, she made love to him with her mouth. She suckled and caressed, alternating rhythm, one moment hard and tight, the next gentle with a dancing tongue, paying attention to his every reaction. She made him believe that she enjoyed giving him pleasure, that at that moment in her life, bringing him absolute pleasure was the most important thing in her world.
He heard his own groan. Felt his already hard cock swell. He didn't want to finish in her mouth, as sexy as that would be; he needed to be inside her body. He needed to feel her soft skin sliding over his, her channel sheathing him, hot and tight. He wanted to be surrounded by her. His hands were on t
"Strip, baby, hurry. I want to be inside you. I have to be inside of you." His voice had gone so hoarse he barely recognized it. His lungs burned. His hand circled his cock, stroking, keeping the fire high as she shrugged out of her clothes.
Everything in him went to molten heat, converging in his aching, swelling shaft, at the sight of her shedding her clothes, revealing her bare, peach-soft skin. She never questioned him. Never protested. She was whatever he needed. There was no other like her in the world. His Jaimie. He caught the mop of curls and pulled her mouth to his, taking her kiss, feeding on her sweetness, on the spice of her, while his other hand cupped and kneaded her soft breasts. First one, then the other, as he devoured her mouth.
"Are you ready for me, honey?" he asked, his hand sliding low to test her wetness.
"I'm always ready for you," she answered. "I crave you."
His heart jumped, and then slammed hard against his chest. "Put your arms around my neck, Jaimie," he instructed. He lifted her in his arms, skin to skin, her breasts pressed tight against his chest. Just the feel of her made his cock ache with need. "Wrap your legs around my waist, sweetheart. Lock your ankles tight."
Because she was so generous, so giving, she opened herself to him without reservation. His eyes burned. His throat felt raw. He could lose himself for a little while in her--forget the ugliness of the places he'd been, the carnage he'd seen. He gripped her hips tightly and slowly, and inch by exquisite inch, sheathed himself inside of her. He could forget the life or death decisions he had to make, the brutality of his life, just live inside her for a short while and know what peace was.