Debra Webb - Striking Distance

It was him.

The assassin who feared no one—not even Lucas and his men. Lucas wasn’t stupid. He felt certain the guy was well aware his men had noticed his presence. And still he stalked Victoria. Fearlessly.

The idea that he could have left more explosives in the house tied Lucas’s gut in knots. There was no end to the damage he could have done—poison and any number of other booby traps. He should have had someone watching the house at all times...but he hadn’t even considered that avenue. His only concern had been keeping Victoria safe in real time. He’d failed to properly evaluate the threat. He was too close to this...not thinking clearly. It wouldn’t happen again.

“No, thank you, Lucas,” she said finally, the annoyance she’d felt at his deception visibly draining away. “I’ll be fine here. Besides—” she gestured to the door “—your capable men are right outside.”

That reminded him. Ian and Simon were still waiting outside with John Logan and Vincent Ferrelli. Lucas imagined the two of them would be dressed down next. Victoria had already told them in no uncertain terms that she would speak to them later.

Lucas nodded his understanding of her decision to stay home. As he had known, Victoria Colby would not run from any sort of threat. “We’ll talk again later this morning. We still haven’t reached a decision on where we’ll take our vacation.”

One brow winged higher than the other. “Do you really expect me to believe that you haven’t made that decision already?”

He tugged at his collar. Even without a tie binding his neck she could make him squirm. “We can discuss it over lunch.” He wanted her a lot calmer and more cooperative than she was right now before they made any decisions.

Damn, this was too close.

He hoped like hell Tasha could move in on their guy in a hurry. She’d be settled into her apartment by noon today. Maverick and Ramon, two more of his specialists, would serve as her backup, and bring her up to speed. She had to get next to this guy. Lucas needed something...anything to go on. He was counting on her to move quickly. He just hoped it didn’t get her killed.

He swallowed hard. If it did, it would be entirely his doing. She was young and reckless. Far too reckless to fully comprehend the level of danger involved. But he’d needed her, and Lucas had never failed to take whatever risk required to accomplish his mission. For the first time in his career, he wondered if he had done the right thing.

Victoria squeezed his arm. “I’m okay, Lucas. Really.”

He snapped back to the present. She’d mistaken his preoccupation for concern. And he was concerned. About a number of things. “That’s all that matters,” he said as much for his own benefit as hers. Keeping her safe was all that really mattered. He leaned down and brushed a kiss to her cheek. “Good night, Victoria.”

He didn’t want to leave her. She looked so vulnerable in that white silk robe with her dark hair falling down around her shoulders. He’d never seen her like that and it was all he could do not to stare in awe.

Allowing her one last smile, he turned away and started for the door.

“Oh, dear God,” she gasped.

He turned back to her, performed a quick visual inspection. Had she only now realized she was injured in some way? “What?”

“In all the excitement I completely forgot,” she murmured. Her frightened gaze collided with his and she gestured vaguely toward the kitchen. “I don’t eat chocolate ice cream.”

Chapter 8

The insistent throb of the music from the Metro Link nightclub kept a rhythmic pace with her confident stride as Tasha made her way to the entrance. Black thigh-high leather boots and skintight, cheek-baring silk shorts gave the illusion of legs that went on forever. Legs toned from all those five-mile runs, making every guy she passed stop and stare.

The strappy halter top showcased her flat belly and the contour of her spine, covering nothing except her breasts, and even then the gossamer-thin, lacy fabric scarcely left much to the imagination. A small leather bag, hardly large enough to hold some cash, a couple of loose cigarettes and her car keys, hung from a long, delicate gold chain that draped over her shoulder. The bag bounced against her hip with every step she took. An ankle-length jacket that was as sheer as air and designed from black netting so thin and fragile that it felt like a midnight fog against her skin completed the daring ensemble.

She possessed all the bait and weapons required for a manhunt.

At the main entrance she paused for the bouncer to wave his security wand around her body. She opened her purse to show her keys when the wand passed over it and hummed a warning.

She smiled wickedly at him. “Baby, you don’t have to worry about me,” she crooned. “The only thing I’m packing is a raging desire to find just the right guy.”

His slick bald head stilled, his eyes level with her waist when the wand hummed another warning at the top of her right boot. He looked up at her, one eyebrow cocked in question.

“It’s just my cell phone,” she insisted. She reached into her boot and tugged out the slim communicator that had triggered the metal detector. “See.” She waved it in front of his face before slipping it back into her boot. “Anything else you need to see?”

He straightened, glanced at the crowd lining up behind her and then back at her. He wanted to see more. No doubt. The gleam in his eyes gave away his every thought.

“Come on, man, we don’t got all night,” his co-worker groused. He waited impatiently, the official Metro Link stamp in his hand. A veteran on the job, she surmised. One who wouldn’t be impressed by a half-naked woman and a sexy come-on line.

The guy with the wand waved her through. “Have a nice night,” he offered, his tone chock-full of innuendo.

She leaned close to him and whispered, “Believe me, baby, I will.”

“Let’s go,” the other guy grumped.

Tasha squared her shoulders and gave him a look that said, Buddy, you need to get laid, and held out her hand. He glared at her then smacked the stamp in place. An eerie ML glowed on her skin between her wrist and knuckles. She flashed him a “bite me” smile and moved on.

Heavy-metal music blasted from the surround-sound system as she strode into the crowded club. The maximum occupancy posted was five hundred, and she’d bet Martin’s Jag that they’d long passed that limit. Patrons were jam-packed into every available square foot. A long, sleek bar of black-and-mirrored glass flowed along one wall. Up front the crush of the crowd made it difficult to distinguish one couple from another on the dance floor. It more accurately resembled a sea of body parts, all connected somehow like a scene from a gruesome horror novel as they gyrated to the beat.

A laser light show splashed across a screen high above the band jamming on the stage. Booze and beer abounded like manna from heaven, and she quickly spotted a number of other less-than-legal stimulants. Leather, lace and tattoos. Smoke, heat and sex. Women with men and all variations in between. It was all out there. Just like Sodom and Gomorrah.

So this was his favorite haunt, she mused, scanning for her target. Tall, blond and deadly liked it trashy. Well, she could play any way necessary. Backup knew where she was at all times. The handy dandy tracking-monitoring device looked just like a skin patch, the kind people used for kicking the nicotine habit or for birth control. Skin colored and shaped like a small round bandage. Rafe “Maverick” Scott, one of the two men Lucas had assigned as her backup, had instructed her to place it under her left breast. The device would send out a constant signal providing her location as well as her cardio stats. If her heart rate escalated to panic level Maverick would come to her rescue.