Free Force of Nature by Suzanne Brockmann Page A

rubbing him and there was no way she could miss knowing that he was already inappropriately aroused.
    Although, damn. It was surely more inappropriate
not
to get turned on while getting dry-humped by a sexy woman who had her tongue in his mouth and her hands all over his butt. And okay, if she touched him
there
again, he was going to embarrass himself.
    He grabbed her hands and pulled away and found himself staring down at her upturned face, into her amazing-colored eyes.
    “Here they come,” she whispered, and for several endless seconds, he had absolutely no clue what she meant. And then he remembered.
    Brenda Quinn.
    Right.
    Annie was breathing as hard as he was, but she still managed to speak. “They’ve locked the door and they’re heading for the stairs,” she told him, her hands back in his hair. “We just need to stall for a few more seconds…”
    No way was he kissing her again, but she was up on her toes, pulling his head down to her mouth.
    Ric knew only one definite way to stop her. “We’re going to do this on a trial basis,” he said. His voice sounded raspy, thick, and he had to clear his throat. “This training thing, okay? I’ll continue to pay your salary and you’ll continue to do the secretarial work that I need done. You won’t get to work on everything. If I say it’s too dangerous, you don’t argue. If I tell you to duck, you duck and you ask any questions later. I’ll test you constantly, and if you fail, just once, the deal’s off—are we clear?”
    She nodded, her eyes wide.
    “Good,” he said. “And this—you know—kind of thing…That we’re doing here? It won’t happen again. Because it’s just…too weird.”
    But Annie’s attention was over his shoulder. “I’m not sure if it’s her,” she whispered, and he turned just as she called out, “Excuse me…”
    If this was Brenda, she’d cut her hair Halle Berry short. She was much skinnier than the girl in Lillian’s photos, too. Any chance of IDing her via her tattoos was eliminated by the jacket she wore, despite the heat of the night.
    Heroin addict, anyone?
    She was walking just behind the two men, both of whom were young—maybe midtwenties—and white, with shaved heads and a variety of tats and piercings. They both moved as if their balls were too big for their pants. The shorter one wore a T-shirt that bore the number 88. The other had on a leather jacket. He kept his left arm slightly out from his side—which was a pretty sure sign that he was carrying a weapon.
    Annie, of course, didn’t know that, and when the blonde didn’t slow down, she tried to follow.
    Ric grabbed her hand, but he couldn’t muzzle her without drawing undue attention, and she called out again. “Excuse me. Hi. I’m Louellen, 408C? I think I got a package of yours. Are you Brenda?”
    All three of them turned, and it was then that Ric saw her—a slight figure, moving toward them across the grass, in a dark raincoat with a grim-reaper-deep hood that covered the wearer’s hair and concealed her face.
    Most of the time.
    The woman—and it had to be a woman with that shape and height—seemed to look right at him. It was when she turned away—exactly as a car approached, headlights flashing across them all—that he caught a glimpse of her face.
    It was none other than Lillian Lavelle.
    She must’ve come from the parking lot. He hadn’t seen her approach, but then again, he hadn’t seen much of anything with his eyes closed as he’d attempted to touch Annie’s tonsils with his tongue. Damn it. As Ric watched his client now, she was sticking to the shadows, moving closer still.
    “Who the fuck you getting packages from?” the thug with the concealed weapon asked Brenda, who shook her head.
    “I don’t know.” She looked to Annie for help. “You’re sure it’s for me? Brenda Quinn?”
    “Quinn,” Annie repeated. “Quinn…No. It was Brenda Johnson or Jackson or…Something with a J. Wrong Brenda,