Can you say answering the door shotgun first, ladies and gents?
And Mac, already a little cranky because he was experiencing the tiniest vestiges of the hangover-that-never-was—a bit of a headache and a craving for greasy cheeseburgers—not to mention the fact that the stitches in his side burned like holy hellfire, didn’t fancy the idea of adding buckshot to his current list of ailments.
Delilah had put up a fight, anxious to charge ahead in the search for her uncle. But she’d finally admitted the logic of his decision to give it a couple of hours. And since she’d still been wearing the shirt stained with his blood, she’d decided to use that time to run up to the second-floor bathroom to grab a quick shower.
Quick my ass…
The water had been running for the last forty minutes. Not that Mac had been counting or anything…well, maybe he’d been counting a little bit. Forty-one minutes and sixteen seconds, to be precise. And he knew the water heater had to have disgorged its load by now, leaving nothing but frigid H²O pouring from the creaky old pipes. So, what in the world was she doing up there?
Inexplicably and seemingly from nowhere, the image of Delilah, cold water sluicing down her heart-stopping curves and raising goose bumps on her pale skin, flashed like a strobe in front of his eyes. And why in the world his stupid-ass imagination picked this moment to conjure up a vision—fantasy?—of her with her arms raised and her luscious breasts lifted, he’d never know. Why in the world it would pick this second to show him a mental picture of those sweet, succulent peaks furled tightly against the chill, just begging for the comforting heat of a man’s tongue, his tongue, was quite beyond him. Why in the world it decided to go one step further and—
Lord almighty! He blinked away the vision, turning to see if any of his teammates had noticed he’d once again popped a chubby big enough to whittle into a baseball bat. Thankfully, they hadn’t. Too busy, as they were, planning the day in the usual way…by trading insults and discussing the logistics of their next move. Which is what he should be doing, damnit, instead of fantasizing about Delilah, naked, pleasuring herself as she imagined that her hands were actually his hands…sliding over her body, kneading and stroking and—
Oh, for Christ’s sake! What the hell is the matter with me?
But he knew the answer. And the answer was That Woman. That Woman was what was the matter with him. Her and the fact that he’d spent too much time in her tempting company, too much time…touching her. And, now, like a true addict, he was jonesing for his next hit.
“What do you think, Mac?” Ozzie asked.
He blinked owlishly, looking around Sander’s orange Formica kitchen table at the expectant faces of his teammates, realizing he’d completely checked out—sayonara, and see ya later—of the conversation.
“Uh, sorry.” He shook his head, running a hand back through his hair, grimacing when the move caused his stitches to pull. “I was…uh…I was distracted by the fact that Delilah’s been in that shower a long time.” He pointed to the stained and dusty popcorn ceiling above them. “Maybe something’s wrong. Should one of us go check on her?”
Ozzie’s brow quirked right along with the corner of his mouth. “Are you volunteering? Got a little wet ’n’ wild in mind, do ya?”
Yessir. Wet. Wild. And then some… “No, I’m just sayin’ that—”
Before he could finish, the water shut off, the pipes groaning like an old man with achy bones.
He blew out a relieved breath, frowning when he discovered all three of his teammates staring at him with various levels of amusement plastering their faces. “Oh, screw you guys,” he grumbled. “It’s not like we aren’t all worried about her after that scuffle back in her uncle’s house. And let’s not even touch on that breakdown of hers back at headquarters.”
He still got a little queasy thinking back on how she’d been shaking and sobbing. And talk about something he never wanted to see again… A woman who usually had more guts than you could string a fence on breaking down and bawling? Holy crow, he would need brain bleach to scour that from the ol’ memory banks.
“Sí, amigo,” Steady nodded, grinning. “But some of us are still able to concentrate on the mission at hand instead of the sexy, sweet-smelling mamacita upstairs.”
“I am concentratin’ on the mission at hand,” he blustered, hating feeling as if he were the weak link here, unable to keep his head in the game because he was too busy being led around by Little Mac.
“Okay, okay.” Steady nodded, lifting his hands as if to placate Mac. “So, then, what do you say to Ozzie’s suggestion?”
Ozzie’s suggestion? Ozzie had a suggestion? Shit, shit, shit…
Zoelner—bless him—seemed to see his predicament and decided to take pity on him. “Ozzie thinks I should call Chelsea and ask her if the CIA is willing to point one of their satellites at Cairo, scan for heat signatures to tell us which houses are currently inhabited. I say we’re better off not getting the spooks involved. They’re not the kind of people we want to be indebted to. Besides,” Zoelner said, turning to Ozzie as if a thought had just occurred to him, “can’t we just ask Delilah to hack back into the IRS and run a search on last year’s property taxes? See who’s paying what and where?”
“Yeah.” Ozzie nodded. “But that’s not the most efficient way to do it.”
“Screw efficiency,” Zoelner huffed. “And screw the CIA.”
For the first time since the water clicked on upstairs, Mac felt like maybe, just maybe, all his synapses were firing in order. And as much as he hated admitting it this time or any other… “Ozzie’s right,” he said, grimacing when Zoelner swung on him, the guy’s expression all about the what happened to us former government stiffs sticking together? “People could still be payin’ property taxes on houses that are sittin’ empty. Or, people could be squattin’ in empty houses that haven’t had the taxes paid on them in years. The infrared scan would work better.” He made sure his tone was apologetic. Then he did Zoelner one better when he turned to Ozzie. “Couldn’t you just hijack the satellite feed? Do the deed yourself without gettin’ the spooks involved? Lord knows you’ve appropriated Eyes in the Sky before.”
“Sure.” Ozzie smiled, before his expression turned into more of a snarl. “But in order to access Eyes in the Sky, I’d have to use BKI’s routing system, which we all know has been compromised. I’m not saying I couldn’t do it, but they’d know I was doing it. And since Zoelner’s friend is now our supposed liaison, I—”
“She’s not my friend,” Zoelner interrupted. Something in his tone caused Mac to turn and study him curiously. What was the matter with his face? Why was it all red and blotchy and…hot damn, was Zoelner actually blushing?
“Well, whatever she is,” Ozzie waved off Zoelner’s objection, ignorant of the fact that something was boiling just beneath the former agent’s surface, “she offered to help. I think this is one instance where we should take her up on it. I mean, geez, it’s just a quick infrared scan.”