Deep Cover
DEEP COVER
Moira Reid
www.loose-id.com
Warning
This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id LLC’s e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.
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Deep Cover
Moira Reid
This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by
Loose Id LLC
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San Francisco CA 94102-2907
www.loose-id.com
Copyright © June 2009 by Moira Reid
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
ISBN 978-1-59632-954-6
Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader
Printed in the United States of America
Editor: Venessa Giunta
Cover Artist: Marci Gass
Dedication
For L. Shannon, queen of the clean, murder and mayhem only, no p&p manuscript. Three a.m. gets earlier and earlier, I swear, but you’re there. I’ve learned more from you about writing than I can say, but I will say this: you rock.
Chapter One
Butch Markham shifted on the edge of the building’s roof, leaned forward, and brushed one of the sharp stones from his ass. This spot wasn’t long on comfort, but it had the best view of Simonson Consulting’s exits. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes and scanned the parking lot again. What time was it anyway? He pulled the captain’s cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. Eleven o’clock. He’d been up here for hours. He closed the phone and tucked it back into his breast pocket. Was she going to come out of the boondan building sometime in this Earth year or not?
The captain told him she worked late, but this was crazy. No wonder Claire Simonson needed a bodyguard. Walking alone this late at night couldn’t be safe for a human woman. They were frail enough in safe conditions, and her father was convinced she was no longer safe.
The phone vibrated, and he pulled it out once more. Pushing up from the ground, he gave up on finding a comfortable place to sit. He glanced at the readout before flipping the phone open.
“Still on the roof, sir.”
“She’s not out yet?” The captain’s loud huff confirmed his suspicions. Claire’s father was as impatient as he was “Are you watching her car?”
“Yes, sir.”
A long silence ensued and he waited. He knew better than to interrupt Dirk Simonson when he was thinking.
“Check the front of the building?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Check it again.”
Butch walked across the large, flat roof toward the front of the building. He scanned the area as he moved. Three people were walking on the sidewalk ten stories below. None appeared interested in the Simonson building or resembled the snapshot the captain had given him of his daughter.
“Anything?”
“Not yet, no.”
“Remember, when she finally comes out, follow at a distance. Don’t let her see you. Do not approach her. It’s going to be tough enough to convince her she needs you without telling her anything she doesn’t need to know, you understand me?”
Butch took a deep breath. The sooner this job was over and he was off this planet and back on his own, the better. “Yes, I do.”
“She might decide to take a cab home since it’s so late.” He snorted. “Probably won’t. Shit.”
“I’m watching both exits, sir.” Just as well. Sitting was an impossibility anyway.
“Good. She’ll come out eventually. After she arrives home, wait about half an hour, then come to the door. That’ll give me time to talk to her. It’s all going to go to shit right about then anyway. As good a time as any to show up. You understand?”
Butch had been on Earth for ten years now. He’d learned their simple language within a week of arriving, and the urge to tell the captain so almost overcame him. Almost. But now was not the time to piss off the one person who held the strings that bound him here. Besides, if the captain was right, this woman was in danger, and if she died on his watch, he was never leaving here. “Yes, sir. I understand.” He closed the phone and stared out over the front entrance to the building and waited
* * * * *
Time was running out. If she didn't get this project done by Friday, the company was as good as dead. Claire exited the Simonson Consulting corporate offices and made her way quickly across the empty parking lot, her mind racing. Two more days to finalize the presentation, and I convince the Anthony Group to sign with us on Monday morning. It’s got to work; it’s just got to.
Her high-heeled shoes clicked over the pavement. Today wasn’t the best choice for trying to keep up her exercise regimen. She should have parked closer.
Everything will go according to plan, and I’ll keep my business from sinking into oblivion, taking everything I own with it. This is going to work. It has to work.
Why was it so dark out here? She glanced to the tops of the tall light poles spread around the lot. This afternoon’s thunderstorm had wreaked havoc with the electricity, fried a couple of computers, and must have burned out these lights. She shivered against the cool, damp air and hurried to her car. One more item on her list of things to take care of tomorrow.
Fortunately, the light next to her car was still working. She could see the outline of her Honda Civic under the trees at the far end of the parking lot. A large white van sat parked a few dozen yards away in the darkest corner of the lot.
She glanced at her wristwatch. It was already after eleven thirty. All her employees had been gone for hours. Why would a delivery truck be out here this time of night?
The late-summer wind blew her hair across her face. She stopped in the middle of the parking lot, pulled her cell phone out of her purse, and punched in Marty’s number. She felt a little silly. It could simply be broken down and parked here. And what would she ask Marty to do when he answered? Walk beside her? Hold her hand? Still…
“Do you have the time?”
Claire wheeled around. A man at least six feet tall and easily weighing two hundred pounds walked toward her casually in the semidarkness.
“No, I don’t.” She straightened her shoulders and strode toward her car.
“You’re wearing a watch.”
She ignored him and broke into a run. Looking like an idiot barely entered her mind. She could feel stupid for running from an innocent man later. Keeping the phone line open, she dropped it into her coat pocket to free her hand. She pressed the button on her key fob. The cheerful chirp of her automatic door locks echoed in front of her. Just a few more yards.
The sound of his footsteps pounded behind her. “Hey, w
hat is your problem?”
No innocent man chased a woman in a dark parking lot. Adrenaline pumped through her, and a steely taste filled her mouth. Marty would be patrolling the exterior of the building somewhere right now. He might hear her if she screamed.
Finally reaching the driver’s-side door, she jerked it open, dropped into her seat, and grabbed the door handle. She yanked.
But he was too quick. He stopped the door with one hand and towered over her, his eyes blazing.
“Back away! Right now!” She pulled hard on the door, but he tightened his hold.
“I have a better idea.”
He grabbed the sleeve of her suit jacket and pulled her out of the car. Clutching her keys between her fingers, she swung her fist as hard as she could toward his face. The jagged shape and extra weight helped as the sound of her knuckles and the jangling keys striking his cheekbone echoed through the night air.
“Uh!”
His grip faltered, and she threw herself to the ground. Screaming as loudly as she could, she shimmied under her car.
He grabbed her ankle, but she kicked with her other foot, landing a blow squarely on his wrist.
“Bitch!”
Claire centered her body along the length of the vehicle and as far away from the driver’s side as possible. It was dark, but she could still see the outline of his boots. He hadn’t moved away. She continued screaming and struggled to work the phone out of her pocket. “Hello? Marty?” Nothing.
She clicked the Off button in the dark and pressed the Emergency 9-1-1 button.
The man dropped to the ground and extended his leg in front of the back tire. Without warning, he kicked, and the toe of his boot connected with her forehead. Her vision swam, but she continued to scream and scooted farther away. He kicked again, narrowly missing her.
“Bitch!”
She gasped. She’d heard the word so clearly, but even with his face only partially visible—no, that was impossible. His lips hadn’t—Something gripped her thigh, and she kicked both legs in the tight, confined space. She looked for his hands. Neither of them was beneath the car, and yet she could have sworn…
She worked the cell phone toward her ear with trembling hands. “The back Simonson Consulting parking lot. Monroe Avenue.” Gasping out the words, her voice raw from screaming, she forced herself to continue. “A man is trying to kill me. Six feet, two hundred pounds, blond hair.”
He kicked toward her again, missing once more.
“He’s probably driving an old white van. Ford, maybe…at the back of the parking lot.”
She didn’t listen to the emergency operator’s words as she focused on his face, memorizing every detail.
“Oh my God.” She stared at his face, and her breath caught. Green eyes…green eyes. But one of them is brown. No. I didn’t see brown. His eyes are green. Green and brown…
“Vobono etem morea!”
He dragged his hand over his forehead and leaped from the ground. His boots moved out of her line of sight. The squeaking hinges of the van door and the roar of the vehicle’s engine bathed her in relief. Her body shook uncontrollably as the screech of tires on pavement echoed through the still night.
What if he tried to hit her car with the van?
She scrambled out on the passenger side and stood on shaking legs, her breath coming in gasps. Her mind rushed through horrible visions of what had almost happened as the van sped diagonally across the parking lot toward the entrance. He was trying to take her—why? Where? Oh God. Horrible possibilities flashed into her mind, but she forced the terror back, compartmentalized it, and made herself stare at the license plate, squinting to read the retreating numbers in the dim light.
She leaned against the side of her car for support until her quivering knees gave way and she slid to the ground. Blood pounded at her temples, and her eyes filled with tears. She dropped her head to her knees as terror at her near miss turned to a sobbing she didn’t have the strength to contain.
The sound of footsteps smacking the pavement echoed behind her. She snapped her head up. Another man was running toward her, this one even bigger. She lurched from the ground and shook her head. “No—”
He stopped and held both hands in front of him. “Wait, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“Stay back!” The tight clutch of fear in her throat brought the words on a choked sob. “Don’t come…near me!”
He planted his feet, his hands motioning her still. “I tried to get here sooner. I didn’t see what was happening until he—Are you all right?”
She gulped in the cold, damp air, her legs trembling, and grasped at the passenger window’s small ledge for support. “Who are you?”
“My name is Butch Markham. I’m not here to—” He closed his mouth and reached inside his jacket.
Her heart leaped into her throat. “No—”
He pulled out a handkerchief and held it toward her. “You’re bleeding.”
Tears continued to stream down her cheeks, her breath coming in short gasps. Her legs shook so violently, she had to struggle to remain upright. Her head was so heavy…
The sensation of the ground moving from beneath her and the car sliding along her back stopped with a warm grasp of two strong hands.
“Hang on. Don’t faint on me.”
She forced her eyes open as the landscape shifted One moment she was in his arms, and before she realized what he was doing, she was on the hood. Blinking rapidly to clear her vision, she forced Butch Markham into better focus.
Taller and broader than her attacker, this man’s face was unlined and smooth but for the day-old stubble shadowing his chiseled jaw. His hair, coal black and wavy, framed eyes of a deep blue, almost cobalt, in the faint light.
His gaze moved over her, an indentation forming between his brows. He mumbled something as he pressed his handkerchief to her forehead. She clutched his wrist to steady herself.
“Whoa, I’m spinning.”
He tightened his grip on her waist. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let anything else happen to you.”
His strident voice belied the fear sparkling in his eyes. What was he afraid of? She was all right. Her temple throbbed, but it could have been worse—so much worse. She pressed the thought away, took a deep breath, and straightened. “I’m okay, really. Thank you.” She placed her fingertips over the handkerchief. “I can get this.”
“I should drive you to a hospital so somebody can take a look at that.”
“No, I’m all right. I can drive myself.” She tried to move forward, but he tightened his grip on her side.
“You’re shaking all over, probably can’t even stand up. The police are on their way. If you’re not comfortable riding with me, you can go with them.”
“I can go?” She sat back. “You’re taking over, is that it?”
He didn’t reach for her, but his gaze never wavered. “Not taking over, no.”
She shook off her knee-jerk reaction. This man had come out of nowhere just in time. As dizzy as she’d been a moment ago, she might have passed out alone here. She should be grateful, but she was so used to being in charge. If that control slipped even a little…
Not slipped. Control had tumbled over a hillside the moment she’d seen that van.
The damp air settled into her bones. The van, in the dark, and that man—that creature… Fighting a wave of nausea, she sucked in the cold air. She could have passed out. That man could have returned…
Don’t think about that now. Butch was right—she was trembling uncontrollably, but it was time to move. She pressed forward, and this time he took a step back and allowed her to slide off the hood on her own. She was still a little wobbly, but sucking in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders.
There was no reason to let the commanding sound in his voice stiffen her spine. It wasn’t his fault it reminded her of her father. She owed him nothing short of gratitude. “Look, I’m sorry. I can’t thank you enough, but really, I’m fine.”<
br />
“If you’re all right, I’ll follow you to the hospital.”
“Follow me?” She shook her head. “That’s really above and beyond. There’s no need—”
He smiled, his eyes twinkling in the semidarkness. “Maybe I’m one of those…a gentleman?”
Something about the way he said the words, as if he’d had to search for them. How odd. She opened her mouth to ask him how he’d come to be out here, but the sound of approaching sirens stopped her.
“And here they come. I’m going to get my car. You’re all right?”
She nodded. “I’m fine.”
“I won’t be far behind you.” He hesitated, then added, “When we get there, it might be better to pretend you don’t know me.”
“What?”
“Trust me on this.” He turned to go.
“Trust you? Wait a second. Butch? Better for whom?”
She couldn’t quite hear him, but the muttered words sounded a lot like, “For me.”
* * * * *
Claire touched the bandage on the side of her forehead as she perched on the edge of the emergency room gurney. The mingling scent of alcohol with other unidentifiable medicines filled her nostrils, making her woozier than the injury to her skull. She hadn’t been inside a hospital since she’d broken her arm playing soccer at thirteen. That day, as if the hospital weren’t bad enough, she’d come home to find her mother had packed up and left.
That was fourteen years ago, and one thing hadn’t changed—hospitals remained her least favorite of places.
“What else can you tell me about the man who attempted to kidnap you?”
She stared at the short, uniformed officer jotting down her responses in a small, spiral-bound notebook. She’d told him exactly what had happened—that had been her first mistake. Now the words “attempted kidnapping” or some variation of them were in every question he asked. This was an official record, and if that phrase got thrown around, it was sure to get back to her father. He would already be full of “I told you so’s!” and “Why won’t you listen to me’s?” as it was. If he heard that, there’d be no living with his constant worrying.