Driven Page 3

  Her body went on full alert and she lowered her chin. “Such a reaction from a simple no. Don’t tell me the entire team is so scared of you that they never defy you.” Her voice emerged breathy and she cleared her throat.

  He snorted, his expression not relenting in the least. “Are you nuts? Our team is full of hotheads who do nothing but defy me. Sometimes Wolfe defies the laws of physics.”

  True. The team was both ragtag and dangerous. She narrowed her focus to his clear eyes. “You haven’t been drinking.”

  “No.” He sat back, watching her.

  This was new. He was using the bottle as a paper weight. “Why not?”

  One of his dark eyebrows rose, the look oddly threatening. “I’d take offense at that, but I have been in a bottle lately. I stopped drinking an hour ago—at least for a while.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “Because we just found the first body.”

  * * *

  Angus Force had been around dangerous people his entire life and nobody compared to the woman reading him with midnight-dark eyes. For yet another failed date, she’d worn black slacks, shiny boots, a pink, silky-looking shirt, and a leather jacket that probably cost more than his apartment. Yet the clothing was nothing compared to the beauty of the woman herself. Long black hair, delicate features, compact body that was trained to fight. Her intelligence was enhanced by an almost mystical empathy for others.

  It was too bad she was a complete pain in the ass, terrible at choosing men, and stubborn to the point that it was a huge character flaw. Worse yet, she was a fucking shrink.

  He hated shrinks.

  Worst of all, he didn’t trust HDD operatives, and she worked for the agency, not for him. A fact he repeatedly forced himself to remember. If everything went to shit, and it always did, her loyalty wasn’t to him, or even to the team. She could pull the plug on his one and only mission, and he couldn’t let that happen.

  Lassiter had to die this time. For certain.

  She moved toward him, and the scent of cinnamon wafted his way. How in the world did she smell like cinnamon all the time? His mouth watered and his cock hardened.

  “What do you mean, a body?” she asked, leaning over to study the notes scattered across the table.

  He flipped open the nearest file folder to show a picture he’d shot with his phone earlier, banishing all thoughts of bending her over the table and taking what they both wanted. “New body, and I think Lassiter is the killer.” His voice was confident, not revealing any doubt.

  She swung her gaze to him. “You’re not certain?”

  He hated insightful shrinks. They always got too deep and screwed things up. “There are differences this time.”

  She pulled out a chair and sat, reaching for the manila file folder. Her scent surrounded him, and as her gaze focused on the notes, intelligence shone in them that was as sexy as her tight body. “I’m surprised you didn’t call the whole team in.”

  He shrugged. “I did, but then we decided to meet first thing in the morning. I wanted some time with this first.”

  She stared at the picture of the victim. “Lassiter was obsessive and driven—he had his routine, never varied from it. He’s dead, Angus. Stop chasing ghosts.”

  Angus sat straighter, his heart rate elevating. “That’s not what I’m doing.” Or was it? If Lassiter really was dead, he’d lose his team, and then he’d be alone again. After their recent successes, it was hard to believe the HDD would really shut them down.

  She pushed the picture to the side to read his hastily scrawled notes. “Yes, it is, and we both know it.”

  Angus inhaled quickly and then smoothed out his expression. “Wrong.”

  “Right,” she murmured, reaching for the photograph. “In a whole year you have found no evidence that Lassiter is alive because he is not. Even the clue that had you rushing across the country a couple of weeks ago turned out to be nothing.” Her eyes softened as she studied the crime scene photo.

  “I’m not wrong.”

  “This victim is different. She has dark hair and is petite. He liked blondes before, and they were often curvy and tall. I think the smallest victim was just under six feet tall, and she put up a good fight,” she said.

  Angus turned toward her. “You’ve studied the files.”

  She let the photograph of the brutalized victim slide out of her fingers. “Of course I’ve studied the files. I know as much about your case as you do, except I’ve concluded that Lassiter really is dead. There’s no mystery or cover-up here. I’ve learned everything I can about your cases.”

  “As much about me?” His jaw hurt, so he tried to loosen it. Heat coated down his throat as he held on to control with both hands. The woman really had no idea who he was and what he wanted to do with her. To her. “You’ve been studying me, Nari?”

  She met his gaze without flinching. “Of course.”

  He didn’t like that. Not at all. She wasn’t even trying to be coy or discreet. “I’m sure your HDD handlers appreciate that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “They’re your handlers, too. I’ve never hidden the fact that I would’ve disbanded the team if you had gone off the deep end, and you’ve been right on the edge several times. But you can’t say I haven’t helped or even been loyal.”

  True. Most shrinks would’ve shut down the team the first time they saw the dog drunk or Wolfe with a kitten sleeping in his jacket pocket. “Why are you here? You’re a first-rate shrink, whatever that means, and you’re wasted here, just keeping an eye on me and the team. It’s too low-level. Why take this on?” The question had kept him up at night, but he’d never really asked her.

  For the first time she faltered. “The team needed me.”

  “Enough,” he barked, the sound echoing around the room as he fought her stubbornness and his raw desire for the woman. Roscoe lifted his furry head, his German shepherd markings dark in the fluorescent lights. He blinked, must’ve decided all was well, and went back to sleep. “For once, tell me the truth, Zhang. Why the hell are you with this sad little group of agents nobody else wants? We really can’t be that large a threat to the HDD.”

  She drew back. “It doesn’t really matter, does it? We’re both here and have a job to do, unless you go off the deep end again. Then it’ll be over for us all.”

  Chapter Three

  Nari scratched Roscoe’s ears in her minuscule office as Adele crooned from the speakers of her computer. After a sleepless night she’d just given up the idea of resting and headed back to work, wearing her black jeans and a mint-green silk shirt. Dressing up had been too much effort, although her opal jewelry and tall boots made her feel put together.

  Roscoe set his jaw gently on her thigh, closing his soulful brown eyes and sighing. His markings were dark across the lighter fur on his face, making him probably the most handsome German shepherd alive, in her opinion. At least he wasn’t hung over.

  “Did Angus drink that bottle last night after I left?” she whispered.

  Roscoe opened one eye, looked at her, and then shut it again.

  Oh, she didn’t think the dog really understood her question, but sometimes Roscoe seemed almost human.

  The whole team had gathered in the office this morning. Angus remained in the case room, obsessing over his obsession. At least he’d made it home to shower before showing up in yet another pair of ripped jeans and a dark tee that stretched across his wide chest. He’d given her one of those looks earlier that had made her want to both kiss him and punch him. How did he affect her like that?

  Brigid Banaghan worked away in her computer room, no doubt running searches for Angus that would lead nowhere, while their new member, ex-journalist Dana Mulberry, conducted research on one of the free computers. Well, maybe not ex-journalist. There was no doubt Dana would take a story and freelance it, if an interesting one came up and was okayed by Angus.

  In the middle of the office, testosterone reigned supreme. Malcolm West, Raider Tanaka, and Clarence Wo
lfe sat at their desks in the center hub, going through busy-work case files sent by the HDD brass. They were all dressed in jeans and dark, long-sleeved shirts, their normal uniform for the office.

  Agent Millie Frost, their new Q, had disappeared into the storage room turned vault with her mysterious equipment. The blue streaks in her blond hair had faded to a light aqua and her face had finally lost its pinched look. Nari had given Millie time to get settled in and now she needed to set up a schedule with her for weekly counseling appointments, as she had with the rest of the team.

  Except Angus Force. He wouldn’t set foot in her office—a fact she appreciated. While she wanted to help him, the attraction between them wouldn’t dissipate.

  The elevator dinged, high and tinny. Roscoe stepped away and turned his head toward the door, while Nari straightened in her chair. “It’s probably Jethro,” she whispered. The British professor consulted with Angus; he’d just finished rehab on his leg after injuring it during an Op.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” Wolfe snapped loudly.

  Nari sighed. All right. It wasn’t Jethro.

  Roscoe bounded out of the office and she stood to follow him, anxiety rippling through her with just enough of a bite to hasten her steps. She stopped short in her office doorway. Oh, crap.

  HDD Special Agents Fields and Rutherford stood in the vestibule in front of the rickety elevator, while techs holding boxes sidled in behind them, quickly scouting the room. The techs were dressed in dust-resistant gray jumpsuits, and one guy held a stack of more folded boxes.

  “What’s going on?” Nari asked.

  Fields shrugged, chewing loudly on what sounded like hard candy. “We have orders.”

  Rutherford, for the first time, didn’t smile at their misfortune. “I’m sorry to inform you that the Deep Ops team is hereby disbanded. Please hand over your badges and weapons. We’ll box up the records, so no need to worry about that.”

  Angus stepped out of the case room, his expression frighteningly calm. “No.”

  Wolfe kicked back in his chair and plunked his overlarge boots on the desk in a relaxed pose that was anything but relaxed. Malcolm just stared at Rutherford, while Raider sighed, shaking his head.

  Fresh rain dotted Rutherford’s blond hair and his Armani suit. “You don’t follow the rules, Force. Never have, and you never will. That gets people killed. I’m sorry about this.”

  The guy actually did sound sorry. Nari focused on him. Man, she’d like to get into his head. “I don’t understand. What’s happening?”

  Everyone turned in one fashion or another to look at Angus.

  His jaw hardened.

  Fields sighed. “The deal was for one year for Force to find evidence that Henry Wayne Lassiter was alive, and that year was up last week. Your team is disbanded.”

  Raider leaned forward. “Are you nuts?”

  “The team is a liability,” Rutherford countered. “HDD is celebrating right now.”

  This was crazy. Why hadn’t Force said anything? Hurt slithered through her, but she pushed emotion aside to deal with the situation. “On the contrary,” Nari said, “we’ve saved a lot of lives with our cases. Shutting this team down is a bad idea.”

  Brigid emerged from the computer room, her red hair piled high on her head and irritation in her green eyes. Dana stepped up behind her, at least five inches taller than the Irish computer hacker. Dana’s blond hair was in a ponytail and the flannel shirt she wore matched her pretty blue eyes.

  Brigid’s pale face flushed. “We’re in the middle of several cases right now that were assigned by you. Where are we going to finish them?”

  Agent Fields’s hangdog brown eyes softened. “Nowhere, Agent Banaghan. The team is disbanded. You and Raider have new assignments.”

  The air went out of the room.

  Rutherford turned toward Nari. “Same with you, Dr. Zhang. You’ve been reassigned.”

  All eyes focused on her.

  “Wonderful,” she snapped. How the heck was she going to keep this team together and employed? They really had done good. A lot of it. She scrambled to find a solution. “How long do we have a lease for this, um, office?” The place was depressing, but they had managed to spruce it up a little.

  Rutherford shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll use it for something else.”

  Wolfe snorted, his bourbon-colored eyes piercing. “Right. Like you could talk anybody else into working in this crappy dump.”

  A tech with a box moved toward the hub, and Wolfe stiffened, lowering his chin. The guy stopped cold and looked toward Rutherford for help.

  Nari cleared her throat. There had to be a way to get through this without anybody being punched in the face. “Everyone relax.” What the heck were they thinking, just showing up in the midst of a volatile bunch of armed alpha males?

  Her phone buzzed, and she looked down to scan an email telling her to report to headquarters in an hour. Her stomach dropped.

  Fields cleared his throat, his gaze on Roscoe. “It’s done, Agent Zhang. The deal was for a year.” He turned and faced Angus across the bullpen. “In one year you haven’t found one iota of proof to show that Henry Wayne Lassiter is alive, because he isn’t. It’s a fact, and it’s time to move on.”

  “A body was found last night,” Angus retorted, his thick, dark hair mussed and his deep, green eyes glittering. “Most of the scene was a flashback to Lassiter’s work.”

  Finally, Rutherford let a small smile lift the corner of his lip. “The Metro police have a guy in custody for last night’s crime. Ex-boyfriend of the victim who thought that copying a serial killer would lead police in the wrong direction.”

  “I want to talk to him,” Angus said, pushing away from the doorframe.

  “You no longer work for the HDD,” Rutherford returned. “Or the FBI. Or anybody, to be honest. Go back to your cabin in the Kentucky woods with your mentally challenged canine.”

  The temperature in the entire bullpen rose. Fast and hot.

  Nari stepped closer to Roscoe and patted his head. He dropped his butt and sat, staring intently at the agents. “Insulting the dog is a big mistake, Agent,” she murmured. Oh, the dog didn’t understand, but Angus was two seconds from going for Rutherford’s throat, and he could probably get across the room in a heartbeat.

  Roscoe snarled.

  Maybe he did understand. Nari dug her fingers into his fur to calm him. He was probably picking up on the high tension level in the room.

  Fields motioned for the techs to get to work. “We should be done within a couple of hours.”

  “No.” Angus’s chin had the look of solid rock, and he strode toward the bullpen. “If you’re kicking us out, that’s fine. We’ll go through our files and personal items and box everything up on our own.”

  Rutherford shook his head. “You know that’s not how this works. Everything here is owned by the HDD and we’ll break it down.”

  “I. Said. No.” Angus stepped up to within a foot of the agents and crossed his arms.

  In a movement that was as uniform as a choreographed dance, Wolfe, Malcolm, and Raider pushed away from their desks and fanned out behind Angus, big and strong. A solid wall of muscle and determination, all masking the surprise they must be feeling.

  Brigid and Dana quietly disappeared back into the computer room, no doubt to start transferring files while they had the chance.

  Nari stood in her doorway, her hand on the dog’s head, watching the showdown. She could fight as well, if not better, than most agents, but which of them would she fight? The HDD had the law on their side, but the Deep Ops team had rights as well. In their own minds anyway.

  The elevator hitched and burped, opening again with an even higher pitch. Dr. Jethro Hanson strode out, limping only slightly. He paused and took in the scene, his gaze landing on Angus. “Got your message, mate. Lassiter is alive?”

  “No,” Agent Rutherford bit out. “Not alive.” He didn’t turn to look at Jethro, but instead kept hi
s gaze directed at Angus. “This department of the HDD is shut down, Professor. You can go back to your ivory tower and your new life away from danger. Godspeed.”

  One of Jethro’s brown eyebrows lifted. “I see.” The professor was in black slacks and a button-down shirt, with his dark blond hair ruffled by the rain. “Why do I feel like I’ve been pulled into West Side Story?”

  Nari bit back a laugh. Why did sarcasm sound so much better in a British accent? “The Sharks and the Jets are about to stand down. All of them.” If she didn’t take control of the situation, blows would soon be thrown. “I don’t have bail money for anybody, so here’s what’s going to happen.”

  She waited for everyone’s attention to turn to her before continuing. “Agents Rutherford and Fields, you will take your workers back to headquarters while leaving the boxes. We will box up anything that belongs to HDD and just take our personal items home. In the meantime, because I’ve been ordered to headquarters today, I’m going to meet with my superiors and try to get an extension on that year. Or perhaps find another deal.”

  Angus’s chin lifted. “Deal?”

  She swallowed. “The Lassiter case is finished, Angus. He’s dead. However, this team has prevented bombings, taken down part of the Mob, solved murders, and destroyed a heroin pipeline. We might be unconventional, but we’ve done our jobs, and the team should be able to continue its good work.”

  “‘Unconventional’ is an understatement,” Fields said, reaching in his pocket for another cough drop. He slowly unwrapped it, taking in the situation. “You do understand that we could have SWAT teams here in a second to clear you out?”

  Raider cocked his head, his black eyes confident. “Sure. We could also have every news outlet in the DC area here just as fast. Think of the footage they’d get.”

  “I’d rather just hit somebody,” Wolfe drawled, his broad hands at his sides. “Whoever’s still standing after the fight wins?”

  “That gets my vote,” Angus said grimly.

  Malcolm tugged on his dark gray shirt. “Pippa hates it when I come home bloody. I vote for Nari’s plan.”