Perfect Duet Page 10

  The voice was the same and he smiled, anticipating getting one step closer to finding his Dove. He rocked back on the heels of his black biker boots.

  “If you’ll come with me, sir.” She beckoned him into the hall, and he trailed her to the last room on the left. “She’ll be right in.”

  “Thank you.”

  He took his time looking around her office. Neat without a lot of clutter. He couldn’t find her degree on the wall, instead were plants in spaces where the bookcases didn’t hide the wall. There were even some plants on some of the shelves.

  He’d paused by one to look at the books on the shelf and shook his head as the name of the majority of the books there went all over his head. Hell, he wasn’t even sure they were in English.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I’m Dr. Asher. Now what can I do for you?”

  He pivoted on his heels and waited for her to lift her head from the file she was reading. Her mouth formed a cute little ‘o’ as she recognized him. Xaya wore a pair of skintight black pants and an oversized off-the-shoulder shirt with cats on it. Some killer fuck-me boots were on her feet. Big hoop earrings glinted in the light, and on her head, she had a cute knit cap.

  “You.”

  “Yes. Me.”

  She pushed the door shut behind her and walked to her desk to claim the brown leather chair. He sat after she did.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Where is she?”

  “Not here. She doesn’t live in Gregory.”

  “I know,” he growled. “I’m at the end of my rope here. Any help would be appreciated.”

  She leaned forward and rested her arms on the desk as she hooked her fingers, gaze never wavering. “You know I expected her to bring you by and introduce you to her uncle. Properly introduce us. It didn’t happen.” She lifted her shoulders. “Tell me what happened.”

  God, that was the last thing he wanted to do. But if that was what it took in order to find her, he would. If it meant baring his soul, he would.

  So he gave her a short but unvarnished account of what had happened after they’d left them in the GTO. Through it all, Xaya listened, only interrupting three times with questions.

  “Figured it was something like that. And she never told you what she does?”

  “No. Christ, I don’t even know what fucking state she lives in.”

  “Not this one.”

  “Helpful, so only forty-nine to go. Care to help me narrow that list down?”

  “No, but I will. Because I think you’re good for my cousin. Is she in any danger?”

  Only from my hand on her ass for keeping herself from me for so long.

  “No.”

  “You know she won’t live here in Gregory. She’s not a fan of it. Are you willing to move to where she is? Do you love her enough to give up your SWAT career?”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know what I’m doing?”

  “I’ve been in contact with Duke. We’ve gone out a few times.” There was no shame in her expression.

  Fucker. I’m going to kill him.

  “I get you three are tight, but I’m not going to tell you something I’ve not told her first.”

  “I’m torn. Part of me thinks you should be given the answer, and yet there is a very mean, spiteful part that hates you hurt her, however unintentional it may have been. She’s my girl. Sue me, I’m protective.”

  Her phone rang, and he bit back his impatience as she hit speaker.

  “Dr. Asher.”

  “Xaya, holy shit, girl, I have some news for you. You’re going to have to sound shocked when Xahara tells you. I know she will be calling soon, but she just told me—”

  “Jager is here with me, Xandra.”

  Fuck. He’d been leaning forward, anxious to know the news, and scowled at the doctor who had succinctly shut down that information train.

  “Ohh, Hottie McHottie. Are you part Irish? Do you have a brogue?”

  “No,” he replied. “But I will pretend if you tell me what you were going to say.”

  She laughed. “Can’t bribe me, sexy. Besides, I have no wish to die because my cousin is pissed I got your dick.”

  “Manners,” Xaya said.

  “You know, you used to be a lot more fun before you got all doctorfied. Fine, I’ll not embarrass him. Why are you there, Jager? My cousin doesn’t live in Gregory. Are you after Xaya? Gurl, you know she will fucking cut you if you’re stepping out with her man.” More laughter. “Or is that staying in? Are you having sex in the office?”

  Jager was speechless.

  Xaya sighed and hit a bunch of buttons on the phone.

  “Ouch, that hurt, you bitch.”

  “Shut up and listen, cuz. I know you’re at home because you don’t speak that way at work. He’s here asking me to tell him what state she lives in.”

  “Ohh, so we’re conspiring against her. I’m in. What have we told him? Address? Work schedule? Favorite foods? Favorite sexual position? Hmm, he probably knows that better than we do—we only have her word on it, he has the hands-on experience.”

  Okay, he really liked these women.

  “I’ll take all you are willing to give me.”

  Xaya pinned unique amber-hazel eyes on him. “He is in love with her but doesn’t want to tell me that first. We both know how miserable she’s been and how fucking much of a bear she’s been at work.”

  “True. I say you give him everything and send him on his way.”

  Yes, he agreed. “I’ll be out of your hair right away.”

  “I don’t know,” Xaya admitted.

  “I do,” Xandra blurted out. “Sooner the better.”

  “Why?” they asked at the same time.

  Xandra didn’t answer them, just blurted out address, phone number and Xahara’s favorite place to hang out when not at work.

  Haver City.

  He’d never been, but he was on his way now.

  Thanking them both, he ran out of the door, phone in hand as he pulled up Haver City. He didn’t even know what fucking state it was in.

  Wyoming.

  During winter. Just fucking great.

  Again, if that was where she was, it didn’t matter if it was fucking Alaska—he was going.

  His plans were made as he drove to the airport. He let Leeds know he was going to be gone. The man just laughed and said, “About fucking time.”

  No luggage for him to check—he just had himself, the clothing on his back and what was in his pockets.

  His first available flight wasn’t until the next morning, so he dozed at the gate, not willing to miss the plane. As they flew, he slept, knowing he wasn’t going to miss anything now, and he felt better as they circled for the landing.

  Snow fell as they came in and lined up to land. He could see trucks out there de-icing the planes waiting to go. They slipped a few times as they were braking, and he just hoped to hell the pilot knew what he was doing.

  He secured a hotel room, got a rental vehicle and drove to the address he’d been given. No one answered at the small rambler, nor were there any fresh tracks in the snow. So either she was dead to the world, they’d given her a heads-up that he was coming and she had bolted, or she worked overnight. So he left. She didn’t pick up his call to her phone either and he didn’t leave a message.

  Fuck no. His words would be face to face.

  The reportedly favorite hangout place was an all-night diner. She also wasn’t at this location. He ate, however, and was pleased with the fare.

  His phone buzzed and he picked it up to look at after paying for his food. From Leeds.

  An address and Scar’s name beside it.

  Better than nothing.

  He frowned as he pulled up before a police precinct. It made sense, but why was one of her best friends a cop, and why did she need him on her side? Perhaps it was just how it happened, but she didn’t need to depend on this man anymore. He was there.

  He strode to the desk and waited
for the desk sergeant to acknowledge him.

  “Can I help you?”

  He pulled out his badge and flashed it. “I’m here to see Scar in SWAT, please. I’m from SWAT in Gregory. Jager Cline.”

  “Sure thing—give me a moment to get someone to take you down there. He broke his leg, otherwise I’m sure he’d be up here to get you himself.”

  “I am up here, Egan.”

  Jager turned and found himself looking at a large Asian man on a pair of crutches.

  “Just trying to help you out, Scar. We all know the doctor said you shouldn’t be on your leg.”

  Dark eyes pinned him. “Let’s walk.”

  Gruff and no nonsense. He liked that, but he didn’t want to go for a walk. He wanted to know where Xahara was.

  “Before you get your britches in a mess, she’ll be here soon enough. There’s self-defense later on.”

  “Okay.” They walked in silence for a while, then Scar turned his head once more and Jager held his breath.

  Here came the inquisition.

  * * * *

  “That’s not fair, Ace.”

  They were strolling through the hall after their mission, which had been successful. Some crazy guy had lost his shit when the woman he wanted had rejected him. It was Valentine’s Day, after all, and he’d taken her and the new beau hostage. Xahara’d yet to remove her gear, while some of the guys had done so the moment they were in the building.

  “You’re the one who took that bet against me. I have no problem taking your money. And I expect to see it on my desk when I’m done with my shower. Don’t make me come into the locker room and pull it from you.”

  They stepped into the bullpen, and she pulled up short.

  It couldn’t be. But somehow it was. She was staring at the man who wouldn’t leave her thoughts. He had his back to her, talking to Scar, but as if he’d felt her, he turned, those blue eyes widening as he took in her gear.

  The guys around her froze as well. Jager skimmed over them then focused back on her immediately. Then he strode for her with those fucking sexy strides he had. His black leather jacket over his gray Poison shirt that hung loose on his jeans was nothing more than a pure ad for sex to her.

  “Dove,” he muttered seconds before he gripped the top of her protective vest, yanked her flush to him and possessed her mouth.

  She wasn’t sure which of her boys took her M4, but soon enough, her hands were free and she wrapped them around Jager, needing everything he was giving her.

  Their kiss continued until someone cleared their throat and she pulled back, but not far—he didn’t give her much maneuvering room.

  “Who’s the face sucker, Ace?” Hammer asked, moving into her peripheral vision.

  “Her boyfriend,” Jager said with heavy challenge in his voice.

  “Leave them alone to catch up.” The order came from Scar.

  As alone as they could be in the bullpen, he settled his large hand on the nape of her neck. Suddenly all was right in her world.

  “Hi,” she murmured.

  “You said you were mine always, Dove. Always doesn’t mean you run away, and why the fuck didn’t I see it before? No wonder you were pissed I did what I did.” He tapped her vest.

  She had no anger left. All she knew was that this man filled the empty hole inside her.

  Xahara offered her hand. “Xahara Asher. Haver City, SWAT.”

  His firm lips twitched as he shook it and lifted it to his lips. “Jager Cline. SWAT, Gregory.” He flicked his tongue along the beads of his bracelet. “Glad this was in safe keeping.”

  “Class, Ace. Kiss your man or bring him along, but you have students waiting.”

  “I’ll be right there watching.” He didn’t even make her ask.

  She was distracted but managed to get through the class. He was beside her as he followed to her vehicle and said he would meet her at her place. When his rental pulled up beside her, her heart skipped a few beats.

  Jager was at her side before she could get out.

  “I have something to say, Dove.”

  “Right now? It’s like thirty-five below.”

  “I don’t fucking care. You and me, it wasn’t conventional, at all. But I’ll never love anyone more than I love you. I’ll give it up and come here or follow you wherever you want to go.”

  “Again with the words, Jager.”

  “Only for you.” He held her close and she wrapped around him, not caring about the cold because he warmed her so much.

  This was a Valentine’s Day tradition she could get on board with.

  “I love you too,” she whispered as he claimed her mouth once more.

  Want to see more from this author? Here’s a taster for you to enjoy!

  Theta Corps: Restitution

  Aliyah Burke

  Excerpt

  The plip of water, annoying as it may be, beside his head was the ongoing reminder he still lived. The radiating pain coursing through him was the other aide-mémoire he breathed. It was excruciating to complete the simple task. Calling his situation ‘alive’ fell into the ‘it’s a stretch’ category.

  Ethan Jackson had gone and gotten himself into one hell of a situation.

  Rats crawled along his feet and up his legs, biting when and where they chose. He didn’t move. There was no point in expending his limited energy in a major attempt to knock the vermin off when they’d just climb back on. Time had long since lost all meaning for him. Other than pain, pretty much everything had. He struggled to remember the faces of his sister and cousin. And his own name.

  Heavy footsteps clomped along the damp concrete hall. Every few paces—three—the foot splashed into a puddle. He tensed—either he was losing more time or they were coming back to torture him once more.

  Muffled voices reached him as the footsteps stopped. He waited for the door to open, anxious for the tiniest shaft of grimy light to penetrate his world of darkness. After a period of his own warring uncertainty, he noted the footsteps move on. He closed his eyes and attempted to get more rest.

  He’d seen the rows of doors each time they’d dragged him to a better-lit room to torture him. He was unsure, however, if there were actual people behind them. Screams—other than his—came occasionally but he’d yet to see another who was being treated in the same vein as him and hadn’t given in to the belief there were more prisoners here.

  Wherever the fuck I am.

  All he recalled with positive clarity was Virginia had been his last definitive location. However, again, that was where the time issue came back into play. He had no knowledge of how long he’d been a prisoner. His struggle to remain alert and strong was more than enough of a challenge. With the rotten food and putrid water, there wasn’t much in the way to sustain mental acuity or physical prowess.

  The footsteps returned and he forced himself to remain still and not tense.

  “Get up!”

  He opened his eyes in time to see Hitler’s poster boys standing over him and one deliver a powerful kick to his ribs. Movement was slow—no one wanted to hurry to their next bout of torture.

  Ethan didn’t help much, aware they would drag him up and out of the tiny cell. Sure, his knees got the brunt of it but he conserved energy. True to form, they swore at him in German before yanking him up by his armpits.

  All y’all are going to die. I will not die in this cesspool. I’ll escape and kill each of you for what you’ve done to me. His mantra played on a continuous loop in his mind. It offered the slightest bit of hope to his situation.

  They dragged him from the cell, his legs sliding over water and other substances he didn’t want to think about. He eyed the heavy black boots the two men had, wishing they were on his feet. His own shoes were long gone.

  A stone door opened and they entered. Squinting from the light, he gazed around the room. Ethan recognized the man who implemented the torture. His gray linen suit perfectly pressed. Then again, it always was…at the start.

  This time there was
another in the room. Thin and clad in torn clothing, a black girl stood there holding a tray of something he couldn’t see. Not that he wanted to know what it held.

  “Mr. Jackson,” the man said in a quiet authoritative tone, sliding off his suit coat. “This is going to be our last meeting.” He unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, the gray vest perfect against his crisp white shirt. “You have been a most amazing volunteer. Your ability to withhold your cries of pain has made you somewhat of a legend.”

  He pulled on the bottom of his vest. “I wonder if your sister will last as long once she’s in my chair. Will her screams be full-bodied or sharp and high? I want to find out. I shudder with anticipation.” He grinned. “I will leave you to them. They want to inflict pain on you and we have so few joys out here in the rainforest.”

  Ethan’s blood turned to ice at the mention of his sister. Rage poured into him as if someone had opened the floodgates. He struggled to remain impassive. Internally, however, he killed the German he knew only as Rolf, very meticulous and slow, not to mention with excruciating pain.

  He lifted his gaze and focused on the female. She held his gaze, dropping hers to stare at the floor. I’m in the rainforest.

  “Put him in the chair.” The order was barked in German.

  Tweedledum and Tweedledee shoved him in the chair then held his arms. He glared at the man who neared, memorizing him so he would be able to find him in the future and kill him. An alarm blared and Rolf pivoted.

  “Goddamn locals!” He ran to the door, the two goons following, slammed it shut, locking Ethan in with the woman.

  Ethan held himself immobile for a tense moment. Was it a trick? He darted his gaze to her. She continued to stand in the far corner, eyes still on the floor, as if trying to make herself as small as she could or invisible.

  He pushed up from the wooden chair, his attention split between her—who appeared a bit older than he’d first believed—and the door. Now that he was upright, he saw some syringes on the tray.

  One step toward her then the door crashed open, allowing the Hitler poster boy to barrel into the small cell. Ethan didn’t hesitate, just lunged at him and brought him down, digging his ragged nails into the man’s eye sockets. While it took him longer than it should have to overpower and kill him, he soon stood, victorious. Blood dripped from his fingers.