Hidden (Deep Ops #1) Read online

  “Nothing like a shoot-out to create it,” Force said, tipping back his entire glass. “Call if you need us.” Then he glanced around. “Wait a minute. You don’t have a phone.” He sighed and scratched his head. “Take mine.”

  “I’ve got two burner phones,” Mal said.

  Force set down his glass. “Of course you do. Roscoe, let’s go.”

  The dog bounded up and moved for the door. At the last second, he spun around and tackled the bottle to the ground. Sucking the neck of the bottle into his mouth, he sat up and tipped his head back with the bottle in the air. The remaining liquid quickly disappeared down his throat.

  Mal watched him, frozen. “Wow.”

  The dog returned the bottle to the table, setting it upright. His tail wagged happily.

  Wolfe nodded. “That’s impressive.”

  Force snarled at his dog. “Roscoe, I’m going to send you back to rehab if you do that again.” Then he followed the dog to the door and unlocked it, quickly stepping out into the rain. “It’s going to be a rough night, West. Sure you don’t want company?”

  “I’m sure.” Mal gestured Wolfe out as well. The walls were closing in, and he needed to be alone. Whatever happened, he could handle it. “But thanks.” He meant it. Truly.

  Wolfe clapped him on the back hard enough to bruise. “You’ve got it. See you at the office.”

  Mal shut the door, locked it, and leaned back against it. His body had gone nicely numb from the booze. It had been so long since he’d gotten buzzed with buddies that he’d forgotten the sense of comfort. Of knowing somebody had his back. The last guy who’d had his back had been a mark.

  Thunder ripped across the sky outside, and he jumped.

  Almost in a daze, he retrieved another quart of Jack from the kitchen and returned to the sofa, drinking directly from the bottle. He wasn’t as smooth as the dog, but he could get the job done. He downed half the bottle, trying to pass out. Holding the glass against his chest, he put his head back and closed his eyes. That quickly, he was back in the nightmare.

  * * *

  “I think the redhead had the hots for you.” Junior Bodini flicked his lighter in a nervous habit as they drove away from the curb.

  Mal shot the kid a grimace and took a sharp left turn. “Rumor has it she has the hots for everyone.”

  Junior shrugged, and the streetlights played over the rough angles of his face. He was broad if not tall, sharp if not brilliant. His face was round, his eyes brown, and his muscles well deserved. “Why don’t you ever take one of them home?” They’d been partying at one of the Bodini bars, and women were plentiful.

  Mal tried to concentrate on the conversation. The raid was happening in twenty minutes. “I like to chase for a while. Those? Those chicks were easy catches.” He kept his Brooklyn voice in place. “Saw you give a fifty to the bum on the street. Your dad told you to stop doing that.” The senior Bodini was all about tough-guy image in thousand-dollar suits.

  Junior shrugged. “Guy needed money. I have a lot. Why not give it to him?”

  Mal had gotten close to the twenty-two-year-old kid while working as his bodyguard the last three months, and he still hadn’t quite figured him out. “You helped one guy get through the week. And yet you run drugs that kill kids.”

  “We don’t deal to kids,” Junior snapped, sitting all the way up in the seat.

  Mal cut him a look. “Your dealers do. No judgment, man. Just that pieces of you don’t make sense.”

  “You’re my body man,” Junior retorted, his shoulders slumping. “Not your job to analyze me.”

  True enough. And the assignment had been a serious step up in the organization after spending nearly two years running drugs and busting heads. Taking money. Now he was on the inside, where he’d gotten enough information to plan the raid. The one he was leading Junior into. “Sorry. None of my business,” Mal said.

  Junior flicked the lighter and shuffled his shoulders in the dark leather jacket. “Nah. I’m sorry.” He sighed. “You know? Before my brothers died, I wanted to be a doctor. One that studied the brain.”

  Mal nodded. He’d seen the anatomy books in Junior’s suite, and once he’d realized it wasn’t for figuring out how to kill people, he’d done some digging. Junior had even taken the MCAT and done fairly well. “Why don’t you, Junior?” Urgency swept him, and he had to fight to keep his voice normal. “You could still be a doctor. Get out of drugs.” He was taking a huge risk just saying those words.

  Junior looked out the window. “Family is the beginning and the end, Mal. It just is.” His voice was low. Sad. “You’re like a brother to me. I hope you know that.”

  It was like a kick to the balls. Mal swallowed as he pulled through the gates and drove over the rough cobblestones to the mansion. The night was eerily quiet.

  Junior stepped out and walked up to the door. He opened it, and the entire world lit up. Police cars, spotlights, even a helicopter. “Fuck.” He bolted inside the house, and the sound of breaking glass came from every direction as SWAT breached the building.

  Mal stayed on his six as Bodini henchmen poured from the dining room, all packing weapons. “Six unfriendlies,” he said quietly into the mic at his wrist.

  SWAT teams came from every hallway. A couple of the Bodini men fired and were quickly taken down. Mario Bodini came around the corner, already firing wildly.

  Mal shoved Junior out of the way and took a bullet to the thigh. Pain exploded inside him, and he bellowed. Three more impacted his upper back, and he fell to one knee. Then he turned just as one of the SWAT guys took the elder Bodini out with a kill shot between the eyes. The portly mob boss flew back onto the dining room table, sending food sliding in every direction.

  The other three dropped their weapons.

  “Dad!” Junior yelled. He stumbled to his feet, halfway into the dining room. Then he yanked up a cowering maid, pressing his gun to her head. “Everyone get back. Get fucking back.” His voice was a high shriek.

  Barely standing, Mal managed to whip out his gun, pointing it at Junior. “Let her go, J. You have to. Now.”

  The maid was around twenty and petite. Her huge blue eyes tracked Mal, but she didn’t make a sound.

  Junior held her close, his gun to her temple. His eyes widened. Betrayal flashed hot and bright across his face. “Malcolm.” The sound was pained.

  Mal nodded as dizziness threatened to take him. “Yeah. NYPD. Let me help you, Junior. Get you out of here. Maybe get you that chance to study the brain.” His heart was thundering, but he kept his voice level. “Please. Let her go.”

  Junior’s gaze moved from his dead father to all the SWAT members with guns trained on him and then back to Malcolm. “Fuck you.” His body tensed.

  Mal fired.

  * * *

  Months later, he sat bolt upright on the floral sofa, gasping as his heart tried to stop. God. He set the bottle down. Heat flashed down his arms. His lungs stuttered.

  He’d killed Junior. One shot between the eyes.

  Hot. It was too fucking hot. He stumbled through the archway to the kitchen and ripped open the back door, running out into the dark night and the rain. He lifted his head. God. This hurt so bad. His head spun and his body ached.

  For about ten minutes, he gulped in rain and air, trying to control the panic.

  “Malcolm?”

  He spun to see Pippa just behind him, her hair wet against her face. Even through the darkness, her blue eyes caught him. Warmed him. He put out a hand. “Go away, Pippa. Not now.”

  She moved to him, running her hands down his chilled arms. “It’s okay.” She turned him. “I wondered about the gunfire today. If it would hurt you. Take you back to a bad time and place.” Her voice was a low hum as she walked him toward his back door. “I have panic attacks, too. It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”

  He didn’t want a deep breath. He paused on the patio, looking down at her. “You were waiting for me?” The entire world was fuzzy.

  S
he nodded and reached up to smooth rain off his face. “You saved me, Malcolm. Let me save you now.”

  Her T-shirt and yoga pants had molded to her curves. That quickly, he went from fuzzy to ravenous. This was too good to be true. Was he still dreaming?

  His body sprang to life and his brain went to one place. Maybe to avoid every other place. His hand trembled with the need to touch her. “Go back to your house, Pippa.” His voice was strained.

  Her face softened. “No.” Then she leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips to his.

  With that one soft touch, he broke.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pippa didn’t stop to think. She’d been scared, and he’d been there for her. And now, he needed her. Right or wrong, she could take the demons away for the night.

  And she wanted him. With everything she had and most things she’d never admit, she wanted Malcolm West in a way that she couldn’t explain. He was like a furious, wounded animal, and while she wanted to soothe him, she was also drawn to that primitive side of him.

  Why fight it? She’d be running again soon. Why not have this night? It was time to at least live a little bit. There was nothing to lose. So she kissed him.

  His anger vibrated around them, pushing her on.

  He held back for a heartbeat, and then his control snapped. He was so close to her, she could feel the change in him. He grasped her hips and lifted her off the ground, putting her back to the sliding glass door.

  Just like she’d imagined.

  She curled around him, her legs spread by his hips. Her thighs instinctively tightened against his rib cage, and the flip-flops she’d worn to run outside dropped to the patio.

  He kissed her, his tongue stealing her control, his body taking over. Hard and strong and male. She could do nothing but kiss him back, letting the feelings he created wash through her. Completely take her over.

  Her most sensitive places swelled and ached. Her nipples hardened against her wet shirt, pushing against his chest, needing relief. So much need. Hunger and desire.

  His wet hair dripped onto her face, and she didn’t care.

  He pushed against her, forcing her to ride the hard ridge of his erection. His jeans were barely holding him back. His mouth was destroying her, and she had never felt so good. So free. He tasted of whiskey and the night. She shot her hands through his wet hair, tangling her fingers.

  He planted a hand on the glass door and lifted his head. His chest panted, and his eyes had turned the deep green of an out-of-control gas flame. “This is a mistake. Hold on a minute.”

  “Life is full of mistakes.” She rubbed against him, and electricity crackled inside her. “You saved my life,” she whispered, tugging lightly on his hair. “Doesn’t that make me yours? For the night?” The wine she’d drunk warmed her, spurring her on. She was leaving. For one night, just one, she could be with a hero like him. And maybe ease him in the process.

  His eyes flared at her words. “You were probably in danger because of me.”

  “Don’t let facts get in the way of a good fantasy of one night,” she murmured, her lips still tingling from the force of his. What would he be like? Totally letting loose? A shiver took her. The part of her that was bad, probably born bad, wanted to know. Wanted to go dark with him and find out. Before she had to become somebody else again.

  His lids half-lowered, giving him the look of a predator pinning his prey. His body holding her to the glass, he reached out with his free hand and ran his finger along her jawline. “One night?”

  She nodded, her skin sensitized by his gentle touch. “Just one. You and me and none of the other stuff. No jobs, no pasts, no bullets flying by. No panic attacks.” Could they escape? Just for a few hours?

  “Your hair is normal again. I like your natural color.” His dick jumped between her legs, really trying to escape his jeans.

  “I washed out the darker dye. Decided it just wasn’t me.” She shimmied her butt on the glass, rubbing against him. The guy felt huge. She swallowed. Warning tried to pierce her intent, but she shoved it way.

  He continued his exploration, running his finger down her neck and over her clavicle. She held her breath, wondering.

  Keeping her gaze, holding her eyes captive, he moved his finger down her chest and over one hard nipple. Then he pinched.

  She gasped, her nostrils flaring. Sensations streaked through her, hitting every needy nerve.

  “I ain’t sweet or gentle, baby,” he murmured, twisting lightly, infusing the pleasure with pain.

  Her head knocked back on the glass. God. “I don’t want either,” she said, giving him the truth. Sweet and gentle were lies. This? This hot and dangerous passion was real.

  He released her nipple and palmed her breast, rubbing the pain away. Only pleasure remained. “You’ve gone from too scared to open the door for me to offering me the night. I find that interesting.” His hand flattened over her abdomen, his fingers extending across her entire front.

  “Strangers scare me,” she said, sucking in her stomach and wanting his touch lower. Much lower. “You’re not a stranger any longer.”

  He blinked. That green darkened in those wild eyes. “You don’t know me.”

  “Show me, then. Show me who you are,” she whispered, cupping his face. “I don’t care who you’ve been or what you’ve done. Just show me now.” Reaching up, she sank her teeth into his bottom lip.

  A part of her, the elements that had survived the last eight years, yelled at her to stop. To run and get away. Now. But she was tired of hiding. Tired of not living and not feeling.

  The obvious struggle in him, the one that clenched his biceps into ripped muscle, spurred her on. Could she make him lose that control? For her? It’d be worth the cost. Soon she’d be alone again, and probably even more secluded than now. This night, she wanted. Just a piece of him to take with her. This hero who’d jumped in front of bullets for her. This wounded male who had a darkness in him she could almost taste.

  His chest hitched.

  She released his bottom lip and licked it. The whiskey tasted good, but he tasted better. Then she reached down and caressed his length, trying to grip him.

  He growled. Low and deep.

  She shivered at the sound.

  He opened the sliding door and walked inside carrying her. One broad hand flattened across her butt to hold her in place as he shut the door and locked it. “How long has it been for you?” Long strides had them down the hallway and into the master bedroom. He had a big bed with a dark comforter and a couple of bed tables.

  This wasn’t about talk. She grabbed his face and kissed him, her tongue darting inside his warm mouth.

  His fist tangled in her hair and he jerked her head back, the movement rough. Tingles exploded along her scalp. “I asked you a question.” His voice was dark and hoarse.

  Oh, the need to challenge him, to see how far he’d go, shocked her in its intensity. Not once in her life had she explored this side of herself. With him, she couldn’t seem to stop. “Who cares?”

  He leaned in. “You want me?”

  She nodded. Hadn’t she made that perfectly clear?

  “All of me?” His voice had lowered even more somehow.

  A warning tingled through her. “Yes.”

  “Then when I ask a question, you answer it.” His eyebrows rose when she remained silent. “No. Hmmm. All right. I’ll find out myself.” He gripped the back of her yoga pants and stripped them off, along with her panties. Then he yanked her shirt over her head.

  Cool air brushed her naked body. He was fully clothed, his jeans and shirt wet, and a sense of vulnerability speared through her. He kept her aloft and against him. Her thighs trembled against his flanks.

  “Want to tell me now?” he rumbled.

  She blinked and slowly shook her head. The ache in her was deep—so deep.

  “All right.” Capturing her gaze, he tilted her body and slid his middle finger inside her. “Baby, you’re wet.”

  M
ini explosions rocketed through her, and she widened her eyes, her body going rigid. Shock mixed with pleasure. He drew a circle inside her, and she arched against him, crying out. It felt too good. Her body tightened like a bow.

  What had she done? Even though he still felt in control of himself, there was a tension with him. One that whispered she’d pushed him too far. “Malcolm.”

  “Feels like a while. You’re tight.” He continued to explore, his touch firm. “How long, Pippa? Last time you pushed me, I pinched you.”

  “Almost five years,” she blurted out in a rush of self-protection.

  His jaw hardened. “That’s a long time.”

  Yeah. It was. She tried to keep her eyes open, but his finger was killing her. She was so close. And she’d never felt like this. The other two guys, the ones she’d become intimate with so long ago, faded into nothingness. Probably forever.

  He removed his hand, and she gave a small groan of protest as he set her on the bed. The need in her body was starting to really hurt. Then he removed his shirt and kicked out of his boots and jeans.

  Whoa. He was long and hard. Thick too. She pressed her mouth together. Was it possible to be too big?

  He pressed a hand to her upper chest and pushed. She fell back, and before she could laugh, he spread her legs and settled his mouth on her. The second his lips touched her, she went off. The orgasm shook her, and she barely noticed he’d slipped two fingers inside her. He forced her to ride the waves, and she completely lost herself in the moment.

  Bliss took her, and she finally relaxed, going soft.

  He licked her. Once and again.

  She reached for his hair to pull him up.

  “Not yet. You have to be ready.” His mouth was on her sex as he spoke, and vibrations careened through her lower body. He licked her again, his fingers doing their magic, driving her up. Higher and higher. When she broke this time, she bit her lip to keep from crying out his name.

  Then he stood up.

  With the light from the kitchen behind him, his face was in shadow. But his form was all muscle. Grasping her hips, he pushed her further up the bed. His big body climbed up her, and he balanced on one arm as he reached for the drawer of the end table. The condom crinkled, and then he was sheathed.