Closer (The Unit #1) Page 19

  She blinked in surprise. She had never talked dirty with anyone before in her life, but with Michael, she found it turned her on. She certainly never sent naughty text messages.

  She texted back: I wish my hand was on your cock. She hit the send button before she could change her mind.

  Michael: I can’t wait to be buried inside your pussy.

  Emma: I can’t wait to feel your cock push into me for the first time.

  His words were undoing her there in her office. She felt that emptiness in her belly, the emptiness only Michael could fill. She felt herself grow moist between her legs, and he had only said two things to her. She had it bad for him. She needed relief from the ache he caused inside her. She squeezed her thighs together hoping for some relief.

  Emma: I am ready to go home. Please come and get me.

  Michael: I am outside waiting on the street. I will come into the lobby. Do not leave the building unless you are on my arm.

  She placed her files and notes back in her desk drawer. She put the Hummingbird back in its cage for the night. She would devote all of tomorrow to the project. She had a pretty clear understanding of the failure of the spray mechanism. Tomorrow she would fix it. Tonight, she wanted Michael. She put on her coat and walked to Bethany’s office to say goodnight.

  “I thought you would be staying later. Then, we could get some dinner tonight? Maybe a few drinks?” Bethany inquired.

  “Sorry. I don’t want to overdo it. I just got over being sick. Maybe this weekend?” she asked Bethany, hoping her friend would understand.

  “Sure, sure. Although, I am not sure which night I will be available this weekend. I have another date with the guy from the club.” She waved to her friend from behind her office desk.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Emma said as she hurried from the office and down the stairs to gather her things from Paul.

  After a few minutes of small talk with Paul, she turned to see her gorgeous man waiting on her. She loved the way his unruly hair looked like a woman had just ran her hands through it; the way his dark eyelashes lined his eyes; the way his muscles bunched under his coat. She was all his, and she couldn’t wait to get her hands on him.

  Apparently, he must have felt the same, because as soon as she neared him, he pulled her to him and pressed his lips roughly to hers. It was a kiss filled with need, with desire. They stood in the lobby of the office building kissing and touching each other. If she wasn’t careful, this could end her career. She pulled back from his god-like form. “We have to at least leave the building, Michael,” she admonished, absentmindedly touching her lips with her fingers.

  She was burning inside for this man. She doubted they would make it home. They would probably have to pull over along the side of the road. She didn’t think she could wait to ease the ache much longer. He extended his arm to her, and she took it. They walked out into the blustery late afternoon air.

  Michael parked a few blocks down so they had to walk with the wind chilling her facial bones. They walked along the street. She looked up and noticed dark clouds gathering in the sky. The air felt charged with electricity, like a bad storm was coming. She snuggled into Michael’s side to block the wind and give her some source of heat. She couldn’t wait to get home, start a fire, drink hot chocolate, and make love all night.

  A whole day without Michael and she was experiencing some serious withdrawals. The last time she was separated from him, he was risking his life to take down the terrorist cell and had come back to her badly beaten. What a difference several days can make. He was on the mend and so was she. She hardly felt the sutures in her side any longer unless she stretched the wrong way, then they would tug. She no longer felt any pain, and she was thankful to Rob for taking such good care of her. If she would have had to go to the hospital, maybe Ingrams would have gotten to her all the sooner. Thoughts of this morning plagued her mind. “Who do you think planted the bomb, Michael?” she asked, as they were still two blocks from the car.

  “Well, the bomb itself is what is interesting. It was a classic terrorist homemade bomb. Something they can put together in no time at all. If I didn’t kill those men with my own gun, I would say they’re responsible. Whoever it was had to have the knowledge for that type of weapon,” he said, lost in his thoughts.

  “Do you think there are more terrorists out there after me?” She grimaced to think of the answer.

  “I know there are more terrorists out there, but how would they know where you lived? Whoever did it knew not only knew where you lived, but they also knew you weren’t home. They wouldn’t risk getting caught. Then it wouldn’t explode. They would want to plant it when they knew no one was around. We were just damn lucky I walked you to your car this morning,” he said.

  She walked on as the sky grew darker, the wind biting through her skin. She reached her free hand into her pocket for warmth.

  “Just one more block,” he said. She wriggled closer to his body for warmth. He put his arm around her and pulled her into his side. She needed to be there, at his side. She was drawn to him like a plant to sunlight.

  “Well, if it wasn’t the terrorists, do you think it could have been Ingrams?” she asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Ingrams seems like more of a hands-on type to me. It seemed like he wanted to get personal with you. A bomb is not something someone uses when they want a personal kill.”

  The way he could talk about killing like he did it every day of his life scared her, but she understood him now. She just hoped this nightmare would be over sooner rather than later.

  They reached the car, and he opened her door for her. He rounded the car and got into the driver’s seat. She reached for his leg. She lusted after him. She had to reassure herself he was really hers. She placed her hand on his thigh and slowly caressed it through his jeans. At her touch, he went instantly hard. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his cock. “See what you do to me. No one has ever affected me the way you do,” he said as he left her hand pressed against his member.

  She started to rub him through his jeans. The thought of having him inside her made her clit throb. A fire heated in her belly as her nipples strained against the lacy silk of her bra. Her silk shirt didn’t do much to conceal the hard points of her breasts. He reached up with his hand and gently rolled one between his fingers.

  “See what you do to me?” she cooed as she rubbed his cock with more pressure.

  “I better get you home so I can take care of you,” he groaned at the feel of her delicate hand on him.

  He released her nipple, kissed her lips, and then started the car. They drove, her hand rubbing his cock, the entire way to her apartment. They were staying in the city until Friday. It was already Wednesday, so a few nights in the city wouldn’t hurt. Luckily, her apartment had a gas fireplace, so they still could have their fire.

  He parked the car in the parking garage as she directed him to her spot. They walked hand-in-hand to the elevator. She pushed the button for the eighth floor. He took advantage of the time, and kissed her like it was their last kiss. His hands found their way under her soft silk shirt to her breasts. He couldn’t wait to see what she wore underneath, because he wasn’t there when she dressed that morning. He cupped her breast as he kissed her. He pushed her to the wall and pressed his bulging erection into her flesh. She molded to his body, her soft parts accommodating his hard parts. He managed to rub himself against her just as the elevator signaled their arrival on the eighth floor. They walked down the hallway to her door. She could hear her keys jingling in her purse, but she couldn’t find them. When she finally got her hands on them, Michael had nibbled and kissed her neck up and down twice. She quivered at his touch, but managed to unlock the door.

  They entered her hallway. Even in the dim light, he was struck at how modern her apartment was. It was nothing like her cabin. It had clean lines and photographic landscape art, which adorned the walls in neat rows. Off of the long hallway was her kitchen. He followed her
down the hallway into the living room where she reached to turn on the light. She flipped the switch and the room flooded with light. He was watching her fine ass sway back and forth and didn’t notice the man sitting in the chair with a gun pointed directly at his Emma.

  « Chapter Thirty »

  Once again Michael noticed her couch was red leather; just like the one at her cabin. But in this modern space, it took on a new, clinical feel. Everything about her apartment felt clinical. Like it was a showplace rather than a home.

  “Good evening Ms. Welby, Mr. Cartwright. I have been expecting you. I see you got the present I left for Ms. Welby.” He indicated with his gun for them to enter the room and sit on the couch. “The weather forecast was calling for significant snow which never came or you would have never of found my present, and my job here would be done.”

  He walked with Emma to the couch and they sat down clinging to each other.

  “Oh, isn’t that sweet? Two love birds.” He pointed the gun directly at Emma’s head. Michael knew he was trained and wouldn’t miss if he fired. But why would he risk firing here? The gun didn’t have a silencer on it. So he obviously didn’t plan on killing them here.

  “What do you want Ingrams? We took down the terrorist cell. Isn’t that enough for you?” Michael asked chin held high in defiance. He knew Ingrams harbored a grudge against the GIA.

  “As a matter of fact, it is not enough for me, Mr. Cartwright. I want the engineer of Project Hummingbird dead. And now it looks like I will have to kill you too. Why did you get involved in this in the first place? I read your file. You were a good Green Beret. You even won the Medal of Honor for rescuing a village of women and children while you were in Afghanistan. Well, you and your team. I would certainly say that was ‘above and beyond the call of duty,’ Mr. Cartwright. How many children did you save because their fathers had abandoned them to join Al-Qaeda?” Ingrams asked with a look of respect for Michael in his eyes.

  “That isn’t the point. Why do you still want to harm Emma?” Michael asked, keeping his voice calm and even, which was no small task because he wanted to rip this fucker a new asshole. “What do you have against the GIA? We took down the cell that was in the U. S.”

  “There is more than one cell. Do you really think they are just going to give up on the idea of kidnapping your girlfriend? They won’t stop until they obtain the technology she is developing.” Ingrams looked at Michael with disgust.

  Emma found her voice. “Why don’t you just get me protection then if you are that worried that someone will force me to tell what I know?”

  “You haven’t been trained, Ms. Welby. One fingernail. That’s all it would take to make you talk.”

  “Really, I seem to remember you beating the crap out of me, and I didn’t say a word about Michael.” She grinned to his smug face.

  “She was goading him and was going to get them shot sooner rather than later,” Michael thought. He squeezed her hand and looked in her eyes pleading with her to shut her mouth. “Emma, I will handle this,” Michael demanded, hoping she would forgive him for taking the lead.

  He had to get her to keep quiet. Her voice irritated Ingrams. Michael could read it on his face, the way his beady little eyes bunched up at her words, the way he drew his lips into a taught line, the way the vein bulged in his neck.

  Michael had to think fast. It was a good thing he was quite experienced with thinking fast on his feet. Michael stood up suddenly throwing Ingrams off guard. Ingrams, still seated in the plush brown chair that resided in the corner of her living room, quickly raised his gun to Michael. Michael slowly moved forward. Ingrams did not have the training Michael had. Michael had to train for two years before he made Green Beret. Ingrams was nowhere near his level.

  Michael slowly advanced on Ingrams.

  “Stay where you are. I will kill you here, although I had other plans.” Ingrams re-aimed his gun at Emma.

  Michael gradually moved ever so slightly to position himself between Ingrams and Emma. He did it. He effectually cut off Ingrams’ chance of staying where he was and killing her. But Ingrams still had the gun. Michael continued his gradual advance.

  “I said stop,” Ingrams bellowed with such determination that Michael actually stopped.

  He was walking on thin ice. Ingrams would kill him if he couldn’t get that gun away from him. Ingrams stood and in two strides was just out of Michael’s reach. He kept the gun on his biggest threat, Michael.

  “We are going for a little ride. Ms. Welby, you drive.” Ingrams said, never breaking eye contact with Michael. This was a showdown. He knew if Michael got within arm’s reach, he could disarm him. Michael stayed his ground as Ingrams advanced a step.

  Emma stood. Michael put his arm behind him to guide Emma to stand behind him. Reaching for his arm, she followed and pressed her front against Michael’s back. Michael had to do something. Michael advanced on Ingrams. He was going to end this now, before anyone got hurt. All he needed was a slight distraction; something to draw Ingrams’ eyes away from him for just a second. It was at the exact moment, almost like she could read his mind, that Emma took a sideways step from behind Michael.

  There it was. Ingrams turned his eyes to glance at Emma. Michael threw himself at Ingrams but Ingrams kept a tight grip on the gun. Michael grabbed his gun hand with both of his hands and bent Ingrams’ wrist sideways hoping he would loosen his grip and drop the gun. Michael brought up his knee in one swift movement and, at the same time, pulled Ingrams down. Michael rammed his knee into Ingrams’ stomach. Ingrams hunched over, but he still had the gun. Michael continued his assault. He grabbed his gun hand and pushed it high over his head with his left hand so Ingrams couldn’t get off a shot. He connected his right hook to Ingrams’ jaw. Ingrams stumbled backwards a step. He wrestled with all his might to bring the gun back down and point it at Michael. He had almost succeeded. Just then, Emma tackled Ingrams from the side falling with him to the floor. Michael no longer had a hold of Ingrams. Emma was lying on top of him, vulnerable, exposed. Ingrams brought the gun up and Emma, knowing the very real threat, fought for her life. Emma was screaming at the top of her lungs, although she didn’t recognize the sound as her own. She grabbed a hold of his hand trying to wrestle the gun from him. She used all her might and her body weight to keep the gun from pointing at her chest. She rested fully on Ingrams’ hands with her body. She managed to turn the gun to the side so it was no longer pointed at her chest. It was pure adrenaline flowing through her blood that gave her the strength.

  Michael stood motionless, in shock at the sight that was playing out before him. The thought of losing Emma paralyzed him. “Mess with the best and die like the rest,” his motto during those long two years of training kicked in. He took two steps and bent forward to wrestle the gun from Ingrams’ hand. In this position, with Ingrams on the floor, Michael had the upper hand. But the gun was buried somewhere between two bodies.

  He heard the shot. He looked down and neither Ingrams, nor Emma were moving. He saw blood pooling on the floor. He had failed again. He was going to kill the bastard. He was on his knees scrambling to feel Ingrams’ neck, no pulse! He stood, picking Emma up from off of Ingrams’ cold, dead body and wrapped her safely in his arms. He walked her over to the couch and gently laid her down. He felt her neck to make sure. A pulse, thank God! He trekked back over to Ingrams’ body. The blood was starting to spread to Emma’s nice white, shag carpet— turning the edges red. Michael looked for the entrance wound. He had to give it to his girl; she had guts. She had managed to shoot him sideways through the heart. The exit wound was on Ingrams’ lower side. Michael had to turn his body to find it. She must have managed to turn the gun, at least to touch Ingrams’ skin. Michael had no idea how she was able to overpower Ingrams. Ingrams wasn’t a large man, but he thought his delicate Emma was no match for him. “Apparently Emma isn’t so delicate,” he thought.

  He heard movement from the couch. Confident their nemesis was dead, he made his way over
to Emma. “What happened?” she asked, confused.

  “You did it. You took him down, Emma. I am so proud of you,” Michael cooed praise into her ear while he stroked her hair.

  Emma started crying, loud heaving sobs racking her body.

  “What’s the matter?” Michael inquired concern lacing his voice.

  “I took a life,” she screamed.

  Her first kill, of course. He had long since forgotten the feeling of taking a human’s life.

  “I was looking right in his eyes before…”

  “It’s okay, Emma. Ether you were going to die or he was. You did what you had to do. I know exactly how you feel. Your adrenaline is flowing free and fast right now. You can’t blame yourself. You have to keep telling yourself it was you or he. You didn’t want to kill him. Hell, if he hadn’t shown up here, he would still be alive. If you didn’t kill him, he most certainly would have killed you.”

  Her hands were shaking and her body trembled.

  “My hands burn, Michael,” she admitted, calming herself a little.

  “It’s just from the heat of the gunfire. Here, let me have a look,” he said gathering her hands in his.

  He opened her hands, palm up. Sure enough there were red burn marks from the hold she had on the barrel of the gun. He gathered her into his arms and rocked her back and forth until her sobbing ceased.

  « Chapter Thirty-One »

  “Okay, Kevin. Thank you,” Michael said as he disconnected from the call.

  The police were swarming through her apartment. They had the yellow tape over the door so that anyone who wanted to enter or leave had to lift the tape and duck simultaneously to do so. The police wouldn’t allow either of them to leave. After all, she had a dead CIA agent in her living room.

  Emma was still in shock. She was answering the questions the detectives threw at her the best she could, but she was emotionless. Michael had never seen her so drained of life. He was deeply concerned for her emotional wellbeing. He knew she was strong, physically, but how strong was she emotionally?