EDGE OF HONOR: On The Edge Duet: Book One Page 16

  Now I want to kick all of his teeth down his throat.

  But walking away from the cottage is fine with me, for now.

  “Got a name?” I make small talk as we slowly progress along the beach, each assessing the other’s every movement.

  The sun slips behind some clouds, and I stop to get a better look around. I see silhouettes moving along the dunes. There are too many to get an accurate count.

  “I told you we weren’t alone.”

  I take a better look at him and it’s obvious to me now. He walks like a man who’s ready, like a man who’s seen battle. The focus in his narrowed eyes says it all. This man is a killer.

  “Like I said before, I wouldn’t have brought the girl. Women distract you just enough so that you don’t see the devil until he’s sitting at your table. Oh, and you can call me Mr. Green.”

  “Green is it?” I start walking again.

  “I figure with you being a mick and all, Mr. Green sounds good, no? What do you think?”

  “I think you’ve seen a few too many Quentin Tarantino movies. How about you tell me what this is all about?”

  “Okay. I have a friend, Mr. Collins.”

  “You mean you have someone you answer to, don’t you, Green?” I try to keep him talking and distracted. I figure the farther we walk from the cottage, and Georgia, the better.

  “So this friend of mine had a use for you.” He smiles again. “And then he didn’t have a use for you. But then you killed a bunch of my men and he suddenly has a use for you again.” His smile disappears completely. “So here I am, strolling along the beach with the man I’ve been looking to kill for the better part of a week now.”

  “Sounds like it sucks to be you.”

  “Do you think?” His lips twitch with amusement. “I guess we’ll see.”

  I don’t much like the sound of that.

  We walk in silence the last couple hundred yards to the lighthouse, where a fleet of black SUVs are parked and waiting.

  Mr. Green nods his head and the doors all open simultaneously. Men in full tactical gear step out and quickly surround us. It’s an impressive and overwhelming display of force.

  “Are they all in matching costumes?” I shade my eyes with my hand and watch them come to a stop together. “I’m impressed.”

  “You should be.” Green keeps his back to me.

  “Well, don’t be too pleased with yourself. I knew a fella back home that trained monkeys for a living and he had a lot more monkeys than you do.”

  Green and I laugh together, briefly.

  “So now it’s choosing time.” He turns to face me and the laughter is gone, but a chilling grin remains plastered across his face. “As I told you before, my friend has found a use for you again. But this nonsense has to stop.”

  “Why did your friend go through all of this to get here? Why not just come at me straight away and talk? I’ve been told I’m a fairly approachable guy by more than a few folks.”

  “This was never about you.” Green sniggers. “You were a happy accident.” He laughs again, louder and longer. “You were never the hero of this story. You were a means to an end, a bit player who’s being offered another role.”

  “This was about Karyn?” I ask.

  “Enough small talk. It’s time to decide.”

  “What are my options?” I’m trying to stall, but I still don’t see any way out of this.

  “You need to hear them? I’ll play along.” Green indulges me. “Option one: you come along voluntarily. We jump in these nice, shiny, black trucks behind me and you come work for us.”

  “And the girl?”

  “She goes back to her life, albeit a little put off by your sudden departure. Especially after all that intimacy last night.” Green’s smirk reappears. He’s letting me know they’ve had eyes on us all night. “You were never really out of reach this whole time. I just figured allowing you one last fuck would be a good way to start our new work relationship. And how you kept going back for her in Boston?” He shakes his head and claps his hands a few times. “Bravo. I mean that was heroic. Hell, you deserved an all-night, marathon fuck. She really does seem like a good woman.”

  “And my other options?”

  “Scorched Earth, right here—right now.”

  He’s bluffing. They won’t kill her, it’d be too messy. They’re looking to clean this up, not make it worse.

  I look back along the dunes and no longer see the silhouettes behind us.

  “You know where they are.” Green loses his placating tone.

  Georgie is tough, she’ll be all right, and this fucker needs to die. I’ve faced steeper odds than this before. I like my chances.

  Green notices the smile on my face and steps in close. “It’s time to decide.”

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Georgia

  Fighting to stay asleep, I burrow the side of my face into my plush pillow. Every inhale I take calls up the manly scent of Belfast, and my lips form a dreamy smile. The mattress underneath me has the perfect amount of cushion, and between these two things I’m tempted to stay in bed all day.

  But the real attraction is the sexy man behind me. I slide one of my legs back along the mattress, searching for Belfast’s calf, but I come up empty.

  My eyelids flip up with mild protest against the bright sunlight pouring into the bedroom and I have to blink away the discomfort. Rolling over, I see his side of the bed is empty and I frown. But then I smile because I know what side he likes to sleep on.

  I know where Belfast likes to sleep. Crazy.

  Turning onto my back, I stare at the white ceiling, lost in a well-sated Belfast haze.

  Never in a million years did I think I’d have intimate knowledge of any kind about Brennan Collins. A warm flush rushes through me as details of last night replay in my mind. His tongue dragging over my clit while he fucked me with his thick fingers. And quick as a snap, I’m turned on again. I wish he were here now.

  My hand eases down between my legs, the pads of my fingers pressing on my clit. It’s not nearly as satisfying as Belfast’s touch is.

  Sighing, I flip the covers off and sit straight up on the edge of the bed. As much as I want to go find Belfast to take care of the ache between my thighs, I need a few moments to myself to process everything that happened last night. We were more open and honest with each other than we’ve ever been.

  Even though I’m not sure what will come of us, I’m hopeful we’ll find a way out of this mess. And then we can focus on doing what we need to in order to be together.

  I grin goofily as I work out the details in my mind.

  Brennan Collins and Georgia Cohn.

  Who could’ve predicted this coupling? I bet the news will have a lot of tongues wagging at my work. But where I once would’ve cared about what others thought, I no longer do.

  If there’s one thing I’m taking away from Karyn’s life being cut short, it’s that there’s only now. And nothing else is guaranteed.

  And like I told Belfast last night, he’s the only now I want.

  All my nows belong to him and only him.

  Rising, I move toward the glass door and peer out at the beautiful view. Maybe I can talk Belfast into going for another run with me and then a swim to cool us down.

  After a quick shower, I slip on some running shorts and a tank top. I slick my wet hair back into a ponytail and slide my sneakers on.

  Time to go see what’s keeping Belfast so busy. Hopefully he’s making breakfast.

  Jogging down the stairs, I call out, “Where’s the sexy Irishman I slept beside last night?” He doesn’t answer me. Which is odd, because he’s never one to miss an opportunity to accept praise or trade barbs. I wander into the kitchen area but there’s no sign he’s been there. Frowning, I look around the space. Everything is put away and there’s no breakfast waiting on the table.

  He’s not here inside the house because the entire bottom floor, aside from a bathroom, is wide open. And the bat
hroom door isn’t closed, so he’s not there either.

  My heart kicks up its pace to a steady jog as panic begins to hit. Scurrying to the front windows, I look for the car in the driveway, and it’s parked in the same exact place it’s been for three days.

  What the fuck is going on?

  If anyone came for us, they’d have taken me too. They tried to take me out back in Boston. Surely they wouldn’t let me walk away unharmed now.

  Racing to the back slider, I step out on the decking and thoroughly scan the immediate area for a sign that something is wrong. Belfast is nowhere to be found. Not on the beach and not in the water.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Where could he be?

  Maybe he went for the same run we took yesterday. I descend the first few stairs and then leap down the last couple. I check out the shower and it hasn’t been used this morning.

  I start jogging in the direction of the lighthouse, keeping my eyes sweeping the area for any sign of trouble. The longer I go without finding him, the more panicked I am.

  Picking up my pace, I go into a full blown run. My legs and arms pumping with everything I have to give. Images of Belfast being harmed or worse assault my mind the entire way there.

  When I reach the lighthouse there’s still no sign of him. And no sign of anything out of the ordinary.

  Bending over with my hands on my knees, I do my best to catch my breath. He’s not here, and I still need to find him.

  With no time to waste, I retrace my steps toward the house, keeping a vigilant lookout for Belfast. My eyes scour the sea, the sand, I even check each house I pass by, but it’s all for naught.

  Belfast has disappeared.

  By the time I reach the beach house and drag myself inside to grab water from the fridge, tears are beginning to form on my lower lashes.

  Where is he? Is he okay?

  What happens next?

  I’m so wrapped up in wondering, I don’t even hear vehicles pull up outside, or the heavy footsteps of armed men approaching the door.

  With barely a moment to spare, I dive behind the couch and pray for a miracle.

  “FBI.” The front and rear doors of the cottage explode inward simultaneously and what sounds like a dozen men enter the house.

  “Clear right.”

  “Clear left.”

  They’re moving through the house too quickly for me to make a move. I hear them closing in on me and all I can think about is Belfast.

  If ever there was a time for one of his ridiculously absurd rescues, now is it.

  “Georgia.” I know that voice and I’m glad to hear it. But it’s not the voice I’m hoping for.

  “Nash?” I call out as I try to get up, but my legs are weak and I sink back down to the floor.

  “Georgia. Are you okay?” Nash is at my side in the blink of an eye.

  “I’m good, I’m good. How did you find me?”

  “The tac team from DC called us with your location two hours ago. We were in the air within minutes.”

  “Where is he?” I can’t help myself. In all the confusion it’s the only thing on my mind. The only thing I need to know.

  “He’s dead, Georgia. It’s over.” Nash confuses my concern with fear and tries to reassure me. “We’ve got you. You’re okay now.”

  “He’s… dead?” I can barely speak the words. My heart has fled my chest and landed in my throat. Every inch of my body is shaking. “Are you sssure?” My teeth chatter.

  “I watched a live feed of the aftermath and saw the body. Trust me.” Nash smiles reassuringly. “Belfast is dead.”

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  * * *

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  Landing my dream job has me eagerly looking toward the future. But when I see Nash Garrison after six long years, my world is thrown completely off its axis.

  He was my only friend and confidant during the worst days of my life, and I fell hopelessly in love with him. No eighteen year old girl could resist his protective nature and charming grin. I was no exception.

  Now, together, we’re about to bring down the man responsible for my parents’ deaths. Revenge has been the driving force fueling every decision I’ve ever made - except for Nash.

  What is it about him that sends the most rational parts of my brain into a tailspin? And how do I balance on the edge of retribution without tumbling into heartbreak once more?

  This is a full length, romantic suspense standalone.

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  Chapter One

  Zoe

  Nudging the driver’s side door closed with a lively flick of my hip, I sing the song School’s Out. Trailing my fingers along the curved red fender on my mother’s Volkswagen, I eagerly belt out the next line about school being out forever.

  Today was officially the last day of my senior year. Almost giddy with excitement, I practically skip along the slate path to the front door of my home. I stayed after for an extra hour as most of the graduating class did, signing yearbooks and making plans for life after school. Beach days, movies, bonfires, grilling out – the summer stretches before me with endless possibilities for having fun.

  My excitement about what the future holds can barely be contained inside my lean frame. I’m buzzing with an all-natural high from thinking about going off to Boston University in the fall. High school was fun, but how can it even compare to college life?

  Unlocking the front door, I open my mouth to call out a greeting to my mom, when I notice a strange man kicked back on our couch like he belongs there. My words disappear, and my feet freeze in place despite every instinct shouting for me to turn and run.

  He smiles chillingly and rises to his feet. “Zoe, I’ve been waiting for you to get home.”

  How does he know my name?

  “I’m Karl,” he introduces himself, striding purposefully toward me. My teeth press into my bottom lip stifling a whimper when I notice the gun gripped firmly in his right hand and aimed my way. “Let’s go see your parents.” He ushers me back outside toward a dark blue sport utility.

  “Where are my parents?” I question, fighting to keep my voice from quivering as the barrel of the gun presses firmly into my lower back.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be reunited with them shortly. Now get in.” I notice what sounds like the hint of a Russian accent. He opens the back-passenger side door and I climb onto the seat. Sitting on my hands, I fight the urge to flee. Running would be an almost certain death - I’m fast, but I can’t outrun a bullet. I think about my mom and dad and wonder where they are.

  Is he really bringing me to them?

  Karl closes me inside and my gaze flashes to where the door handle should be, but it’s noticeably absent. My eyes squeeze shut, and I remind myself to breathe. I must remain calm and find a way out of this situation.

  Both my parents are FBI agents who have been overseeing an undercover operation deep within a crime organization run by a man named Marius Popov. I’m not sure what’s happened, but this guy Karl must be one of Popov’s men.

  He slides into the driver’s side and hands me a black pillow case. “Put this over your head and lie down. Don’t remove it, unless you want to make the trip bound and gagged in the hatch.”

  I do as he says, slipping the coarse material over my face, tugging it to my shoulders. Instantly, I’m claustrophobic and feel as though I can’t breathe.

  Relax, I reassure my
self. Nobody dies from a pillowcase.

  Swinging my legs up onto the bench seat, I lie on my left side. Wrapping my arms around my torso, I feel something hard pressing against my nauseous stomach. Oh my God. My pepper spray is in the pocket of my hoodie and Karl never took the time to search me. The same sweatshirt I wore to the mall the other night.

  My dad, always safety conscious because of his work, reminded me to bring the spray as I was about to walk out the door. Annoyed at the time, I rolled my eyes and did what he requested. Now, I’m grateful to have it as a line of defense.

  We ride in silence for what must be hours before we finally park. Karl shuts off the engine and I hear him exiting the vehicle. My hand slips into my pocket, clutching the small can in my fist. I quickly tug the bottom of my sleeve down to mask what’s in my grasp.

  The door next to me opens and Karl jerks me from the seat without warning. I barely have time to get my feet beneath me before he’s dragging me along beside him. My legs, stiff from the long ride make me feel uncoordinated.

  “Watch the stairs,” he laughs as I trip up them. Karl’s a real funny guy. Clearly, he’s missed his calling to be a comedian.

  Once we’re inside he yanks the cover from my head, dropping it onto the food splattered kitchen table. My long brown hair lands every which way and I rake a hand through the tousled mess pushing it back off my face into a poor semblance of order. My nose wrinkles as the scent of rotten food assaults my nostrils.