Dangerous Games Read online

  Morganna nodded. "She works in another department, though. That makes three women who worked there and have been drugged by these bastards."

  "There could be a link there." He nodded. "Joe is checking it out. Your cover's shot, Morganna. They know who you are."

  "And we must be closer to the suppliers than I thought." She shook her head in confusion. "We have a suspect, but nothing concrete. And it would make better sense to attempt to drug me, rather than attacking me at home."

  Clint shook his head at that. "The drug can take up to an hour to fully hit the system and make the victim dazed enough that she wouldn't remember who took her out of the club if she did survive the rest of the night. Whoever is watching you is aware that you're being watched as well. They wouldn't have taken that chance."

  "The whole damned assignment has been compromised." The reality of that one sucked.

  "Not necessarily. They're obviously not willing to move the operation, for whatever reason. That kind of arrogance can weaken any plan. We'll make our own rounds, dig deeper into the lower areas of the club, and see what we come up with. The majority of the women are being hit at Masters' clubs, so we'll concentrate there. Let's see how stupid they can get."

  The cold smile that crossed Clint's lips had a chill racing up Morganna's spine. She hadn't realized until now just how furious he was.

  "Joe cleared Drage Masters of any involvement with the drugs. They had his clubs staked out for months before I came onto the team. They've also hit a couple of the other more extreme clubs. They're steering clear of the bars and honky-tonks."

  "The crowds are larger in the clubs such as Drage's and they're more impersonal. It's easier to strike there." Clint nodded.

  "If my cover's been blown, then I'm a liability to the case," she said. "They won't move against me."

  "Wrong." His smile was cold, ruthless, but his eyes were shadowed. "They proved that last night, Morganna."

  Morganna watched him carefully. "You're angry at me."

  She knew that look, knew the controlled line of his lips and the glitter in his eyes.

  His jaw bunched. "I've fought for eight years," he finally said. "Thinking you were safe. That what I was doing was keeping you and Raven safe. And I'll be a son of a bitch if you didn't just walk your ass right into danger."

  Yep, he was mad. But she hadn't expected anything less.

  A smile trembled at her lips as she stared back at him, meeting his gaze head-on.

  "I make a difference," she finally whispered, reminding him of the words he had whispered the day he had left for SEAL training.

  She had cried because he was leaving again. He had pulled her into his arms as though he couldn't help himself. She had been so young, and he had been a warrior. He still was.

  "You're going to be the death of me," he finally said, his voice low, rough. "Because if anything happened to you, Morganna, God's truth, I don't know what I'd do."

  DRAGE WATCHED THE VIDEO FEED closely, following the girl's progress backward, hoping to find where she had been drugged and by whom.

  Fury ate inside Drage, as the male figure who had attempted to lead her from the club seemed aware of the placement of the video cameras. His face was kept carefully hidden from the all-seeing eyes spread through the ceiling and around the walls of the club. There were very few ways to avoid them, but this bastard had figured it out.

  The reverse run of the video followed the girl back to her table, where she had been sitting with several of Morganna Chavez's friends. Jenna Lancaster was there, as were Sandy Mitchell and Craig Tyler. Waitresses had come and gone, and once again the shadowy male had shown up.

  Drage watched as the man sat down beside Cathie Fitzhugh. The girl resembled Morganna Chavez a little too closely. Same style of dress, same hair. The drink he held was unobtrusively moved into the place of the drink the waitress

  had just brought Miss Fitzhugh. Without looking, without checking, she picked up the wrong drink and began to consume it.

  Craig Tyler had turned from the table at the same moment, looking out over the crowd. Sandy Mitchell had been flirting with Jenna Lancaster. It was as though the dark figure sitting among them was noticed by no one but the video camera. And then never at an angle to catch either his profile or his full expression.

  "He makes it look very easy, doesn't he, Jayne?" he murmured to his head of security, who was currently pacing the room.

  Jayne Smith-he almost snorted at the name-was the best money could buy in the security field, but even she had been unable to catch the drugging of the women.

  "It's the second attempt, though there are slight differences in build and mannerisms between the two men slipping the drinks in," Smith snapped, her icy blue eyes staring at the screens intently. "We managed to avoid one last week. Sandy feigned accidentally spilling her drink when he noticed it had been switched. But he didn't see who switched it. That bastard ..." She pointed to the leather-clad shadow slowly moving back from the table as the slow-motion reverse cycle of the feed continued. "Is damned good. He knows the placement of our cameras, your bouncers, and the men watching out just for this. If it hadn't been for the bouncer making a quick, unannounced trip to the men's room, another girl would have disappeared last week."

  "Reno isn't going to be pleased with this report," Drage muttered as he kept his eyes on the video. "Have you been able to figure out where McIntyre has Morganna hidden?"

  "Not yet." She shook her head, the short strands of silky dark blond hair feathering around her face. "But we're working on it. That attempt on her at the house will spook him. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll pull her out."

  Drage shook his head slowly. "It won't happen. She's committed to this. We'll wait until the club empties out of employees before we relocate a few of the cameras. Don't let anyone else know what we're doing. We'll do it ourselves. I want to know how that bastard knows my security angles enough to keep his face hidden."

  You and me both." Murder swirled in the dark cadence of Smith's voice. "And I don't know about you, but I'm starting to suspect Agent Merino has a mole in his group. They would know our cameras and their placement after pulling the security tapes last month after one of the women turned up dead."

  "Agreed," Drage murmured as he continued to watch the figure move through the club until he exited. The outside cameras picked him up from there.

  Two dozen cameras and nothing, not even a profile shot that wasn't shadowed one way or the other, to give a hint to the man's identity. No tags on the plain brown sedan he entered, no marks to identify it.

  "Joe definitely has a mole." Drage finally admitted to the suspicion he had tried to deny. "Contact McIntyre when you find him. He called earlier, but his number was blocked. I want to talk to him before he brings her back in."

  "He rescinded his request?" Smith guessed.

  Drage smiled faintly. "As I expected he would. I didn't expect this attack on her so soon, though. It will only raise suspicion. Merino surely suspects himself now that he has a leak."

  Smith shook her head as Drage glanced back at her. She looked like a cuddly little mistress, not the best-damned gutter fighter he had ever run across.

  "He won't believe it," she said coolly. "He'll point out that the objective was to bring focus to her in the first place. He won't accept one of his men has turned."

  "Do we have any reports on who could be behind this yet?" Drage asked.

  Smith's nostrils flared as her gaze met his. "A few rumors are coming in, but nothing I can substantiate. We've had the name of a canceled cartel pop up a few times, but they were taken out two years ago, the entire family neutralized. We have a possible Russian connection, but that one doesn't feed right. I'm still checking into it."

  Drage nodded in reply before sighing deeply. "Take the bouncers off scheduled posts. Have them move freely about the club rather than in the formation we've kept them in. I don't want to lose any more women from my clubs, Smith. This is pissing me off."

 
; "You're not alone," she snorted. "What I can't understand is why strike so soon after the three were arrested last week."

  "These videos are funding something." His fist clenched as he stared at the video once again. "And they're using my damned clubs to do it."

  "Two other women were hit last month at other clubs," she pointed out. "Diva's, Merlin's, and the Roundtable just happen to have the crowd they're looking for. As for what they're funding, I'm guessing their own damned pockets, boss."

  He heard the throttled fury in her voice and knew she was just as determined to find the bastards behind this as was he. Jayne looked soft, sweet, like a sex kitten waiting to play. She was a tiger waiting to devour instead. The damage she could do to a man when she wanted to had Drage wincing at the thought. She had nerves of steel and ice water for blood.

  "Let me know when you're ready to start moving the cameras," he told her quietly. "I'm going to go over these videos again, see if I can catch anything familiar about this guy."

  She was silent. Drage could feel her standing behind him, watching him. And he remembered weeks before, when he had nearly lost her to those bastards. Jayne drugged on Whores Dust wasn't a sight he ever wanted to experience again.

  "Be sure to remember to eat," she said, her voice cold as she headed for the door, obviously offended by his abrupt .manner. "Don't make me have to cart it in here to you. I'm not your maid."

  Before he could snap out a reply the door was closing qui-y behind him and he realized that once again she had managed to get the last word on him. Damn her.

  Chapter 11

  CLINT PACED THE SUITE AS he listened to the water running in the shower. The dinner plates had been cleared away and set outside, the door carefully bolted. He was sealed inside with her, the scent of her filling his senses as he prowled the room, waiting.

  If he could hold the rest of the world at bay for just a few hours, then he could convince himself, to the bone, that she was okay. He pushed his fingers through his hair before gripping his neck in an effort to massage away the tension there.

  He couldn't shake the sight of that knife moving for the fragile column of her neck. If she hadn't saved herself, she would have been dead. There was no way he could have gotten to her in time. He tried to tell himself he would have, but he knew better. All the training in the world couldn't make him Superman.

  And he still remembered her expression. Determined to live, her eyes bright with anger, her face twisted into a grimace of resolve. She wasn't going to let her assailant kill her, not that easily. She had given Clint those extra few seconds he needed to jerk her out of her assailant's arms and out of harm's way. That time.

  His guts tightened with the thought that just pulling her out of the game wasn't going to pull her out of the danger. She was compromised, for whatever reason, and now she was marked.

  The thought of that was enough to make him wish for an empty room and ten minutes alone with the bastards targeting her. He'd show them pain. He'd show the sons of bitches what it was like to hurt, to die in an agony so intense that death was a relief. No one, but no one, was allowed to hurt Morganna.

  He had made that rule years ago, and he'd made it stick. The boys who dated her knew that if a single tear was shed for them on her part, then he and Reno came after them. She was heartbreaking when she cried. It was something Clint couldn't handle, not for a second.

  Her eyes just got wider, her pouty little lips turned down, and silent tears washed over a heartbroken expression. His hands shook at the thought of dealing with those tears, because he wanted to kiss them away. Then kiss her trembling lips, and from there ... there would have been no stopping his downfall.

  Just as there was no stopping it now. He knew when she walked out of that shower; within seconds he was going to end up tossing her in that bed. And God help her. He hadn't been this damned hot for a woman in years; it might be days before Morganna got to see sunlight again.

  Which only added to his frustration. To keep her, he was going to have to save her first. He stopped in the middle of the floor at that thought and raised his eyes to the ceiling, looking for answers where he was certain there were none.

  Save her? The minute he managed to pull her ass out of this fire, she'd have the flames licking at her from somewhere else. She was trouble. She wasn't even trouble waiting to happen; she was trouble in progress.

  And he was going to work with her?

  He ground his teeth together at the thought. It would be more like trying to work just to keep up with her. He knew from experience that keeping up with Morganna was next to impossible.

  Damn. He was in trouble and he knew it.

  Because in some ways, she had been right that morning. His parents' relationship had colored his belief in love, in women. Morganna was the prettiest thing he had ever laid his eyes on and so filled with life he knew he had no hope of keeping her to himself.

  He couldn't lock her away and expect her to be happy. She would always need an adventure, and as she was proving now, that adventure would never be safe.

  And the men. God, they flocked around her like flies to honey, hungry to touch her, to possess her. As though the life that burned within her eyes drew them like moths to a flame.

  Once he had her, any man who touched her would be taking his life in his own hands. Unlike his father, Clint would never be able to contain his fury if he arrived home to find his woman in bed with another man.

  Clint's jaw clenched as anger nearly overwhelmed him. He knew Morganna had known other lovers; hell, he even knew who they were. He could tell, the moment he met them, that they had touched her beautiful body, had lain with her, caressing her, loving her. And he had wanted to kill them. Hell, he still wanted to kill them.

  That fury had terrified him. If he felt that way and she didn't even belong to him, what would he do if the loneliness she would live with as his wife became too much? If temptation was too close, the fear and the worry too strong, allowing her to give in to another man?

  "You think too much."

  He swung around, tension tightening his body at the sight of her leaning against the wall that led to the bathroom. He had heard the shower turn off; he hadn't expected her to leave the bathroom so quickly.

  The shirt he had given her was the ugliest one he owned. A pea green combat shirt that had been washed one time too many. It hung to her knees, but first it whispered over her breasts, outlining those damned gold rings centered in her nipples.

  Lust sizzled in his groin, torturing his erection, tightening it further. He swore he was harder than he had ever been in his life. "You didn't need the T-shirt."

  "Yes, I did." She straightened from the wall, watching him warily. "You surely didn't think I was just going to lay down with you and let you trample all over me again, Clint."

  He had wondered how long it would take her to get mad. And she was plenty mad now. The shock from the attack was wearing off, but the adrenaline was still riding high inside her.

  "You've been fighting for this for eight years, Morganna." He ground his teeth together in frustration, certain she would end up driving him crazy.

  "I stopped fighting tonight, remember?" she pointed out, those stormy eyes biting into him, defying him, challenging him. "I gave up."

  "You?" he said, smiling, shaking his head. "You don't give up, baby."

  "In this case, I'm reevaluating my options." Slender shoulders shrugged negligently as her arms crossed beneath her breasts, her slender fingers curling into fists as she tucked them out of sight. "I don't want someone who so clearly hates wanting me in return, Clint. Find someone else."

  Find someone else?

  "I don't think so." There were no options left. "Neither one of us can walk away from this now, Morganna. I think you know that."

  Her eyes narrowed, the shifting grays swirling with emotion as they raked over his body. It was almost a caress, tinged with anger, with a forceful determination to strike back at him.

  He had hurt her
. He knew he had. His own determination to protect her had stripped her down to the base of who and what she was. Stubborn, intent. The shock had worn off and now the woman was emerging, pissed off, wary, and ready to fight.

  "You've avoided it for eight years, Clint. I can work with you and handle it. You don't have to fuck me to keep me alive." She straightened from the wall, her arms dropping to her sides as he began to pace closer to her.

  "No. I have to have you to keep my own sanity," he said softly. "I have to touch you, taste you, possess all the heat and fire before I die inside from the cold, Morganna."

  She warmed him and he hadn't even realized it. When he was with her, his emotions, his hungers, all the desperate needs she inspired in him rose to the surface. There was something about Morganna mat made him feel. And he had sworn long ago that he would never let that happen.

  "You never cared how cold you were before. Why start now?" Her voice was rough with the angry tears he could see she was holding back.

  He was almost wary. He had learned how to handle Morganna in every given mood but this one. This one intrigued him the most, though. She was fighting him rather than teasing him. Defying him rather than giving in to him. The complete opposite of the type of woman he had always believed would suit him.

  Anticipation licked over his flesh, sending vibrations of awareness to ripple through his cock. He was going to lay her across that damned bed and paddle her ass for making him crazy first. Then he would show her exactly how a true Dom tamed fiery little wildcats like herself.

  She stared back at him defiantly as he stopped within inches of her, watching her with narrowed eyes, feeling the waves of anger and desire that whipped around him.

  "You're mine." He kept his voice low as he watched her lips tighten in anger.

  "And it took a knife at my neck to convince you of that?" She snorted derisively. "Oh really, Clint. You're just horny. Did the redhead turn you on a little too much? I can't believe you would dare to try to touch me after having that bimbo on your lap."