Rumor (Renegades #4)(12)
Author: Skye Jordan

Josh glanced down the street from Grace’s apartment building, where he’d been waiting for almost an hour. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said the neighborhood was ghetto. Every building needed work, junk cluttered yards, landscaping nonexistent or overgrown. Not one house was decorated for Christmas, and only a few apartment windows had been lined with lights.

At the corner, not a quarter mile from Grace’s car, three young men loitered. Josh was damn sure he’d seen half a dozen drug deals go down in the short time he’d been watching.

“How long has her mom been there?” He’d gone to the home where Carolyn had lived just last year, but, like her daughter, Carolyn had moved on. This time, the current residents didn’t have information on a forwarding address.

“Looks like…” Computer keys tapped in the background. “About nine months.”

The same amount of time Grace had worked at the club.

“Thanks, man. Talk later.”

He disconnected, dropped his head back against the seat as his stomach made another hard roll. He felt like a steaming pile of shit. And not just from the wicked hangover throbbing behind his eyes either. Or the way the rancid 7-Eleven coffee stewed in his gut like acid. No, it was his stupid-ass, bone-deep loyalty that was seriously fucking with him again.

He popped two more Advil, grimacing as he swallowed it down with the brown muck in his coffee cup. Checking the dash clock, he picked up his phone and called his mother.

“Ready to talk about it?” she answered.

“Good morning to you too.”

“So, why’d you miss your flight?”

He winced, wishing he could flop into the backseat, curl up,…and die. “Doing a favor for a buddy.”

“Mmmm?” she coaxed, her way of telling him she expected more information than that.

“Do you remember my teammate Isaac Beck?”

“Of course. I still send packages to your whole motley crew.”

Of course she did. Just like Carolyn Ashby did. Just like Grace used to—before the divorce.

God, even two cups of this mud couldn’t wipe her taste from his mouth. The sultry, lust-filled flavor of her tongue still haunted him.

“Well, he needed a favor. And it’s taking longer than I expected. I’m not sure what day I’ll come in, but don’t worry about it. I’ll catch a cab home.”

She snorted a laugh. “Your father won’t have that, and you know it. What’s wrong, son? What’s this favor Isaac needs?”

He winced. She always knew, dammit. “Nothing big. I’m just helping Grace out. It won’t take long.”

“Are they back together?” she asked. “I thought they got divorced.”

“They did get divorced. It’s complicated.” So fucking complicated it made him want to smash his head against a wall.

“Hmm.” Another one of her all-knowing hums. “Well, just so you know, Grace is always welcome here for Christmas. Carolyn too. Your father has more frequent-flier miles than we’ll ever use.”

The innuendo in her voice only turned the knife in his chest. His mother had been nudging Josh toward Grace since they’d met at one of the team’s first homecomings, when his parents had flown out to the west coast to visit. That had ended, of course, once Beck and Grace were married, but started up again when they’d come to see him in the hospital and found Grace asleep in the chair beside his bed. “Jesus, Mom, don’t start.”

“I’m starting nothing,” she said in her crisp, matter-of-fact tone. “There was something between you two years ago. You always did make things more complicated than they had to be.” A quick sigh transitioned into “I’ve got to go. Your favorite peach pies are cooking, and I don’t want to hear you bitch about burnt crust. Love you, son.”

A reluctant smile turned his mouth. “Love you too.”

Josh disconnected, and the second he looked back up toward Grace’s apartment, she came down the stairs. She was dressed in shin-length workout pants and a sporty tank top, her long hair wound into a messy knot on the back of her head. And, shit, that outfit framed every luscious curve and toned muscle in her tight little body.

In flip-flops again despite the cold, rainy December day, she jumped a puddle with angelic grace and half jogged, half skipped to her car. His heart lifted, squeezed, and ached, all at the same time. She was the most adorable little thing on the face of the fucking planet. So much stronger, smarter, and more savvy than he’d given her credit for. And way sexier. Way.

He could have had her last night. Had that strong, slim body wound up in his. Could have felt every part of her. Touched and tasted his fill. Driven deep inside her. Been surrounded by her. Could have heard her whisper, moan, scream his name. His name.

She could have been his. Even if just for the night. Hell, just for the moment.

After feeling her in his arms, experiencing the passion she kept bottled up, he knew making love to her would blow his fucking mind. He craved the luxury of giving himself over to the desire, a desire that would turn into an all-consuming passion if he really let himself go.

The only thing he’d ever wanted as much as he wanted Grace now, was to become a SEAL.

And at the moment, he had neither.

Grace slipped into her piece-of-shit ’90s-something Honda and cranked the engine three times before it started.

He swore under his breath. She shouldn’t even be living in this neighborhood, let alone driving a car that could break down on her. She pulled away from the curb, and Josh let her get two blocks ahead before he followed.

His cell rang with a blocked number, and he answered through his car’s automated system. “Marx.”

“Did you find her?” Beck asked over a crackling connection.

Josh’s mind flashed with the memory of pushing her wet shirt up, skimming his hands up her tight, warm belly, taking her plump, soft breasts in his hands, and covering one rosy-tipped mound with his mouth. His eyes closed on an involuntary moan, and he cleared his throat to cover. His desire turned him inside out with lust…and clenched his stomach with guilt.

“Yes, I found her,” he said. “And she’s fine.”

“What’s going on with her? Why isn’t she calling me back?”

She’d never given him an answer about that. “She’s working,” he ad-libbed. “It’s Christmas. She’s just busy, dude. We didn’t get much time to talk. But you don’t have to worry about her. I’m checking everything out, making sure she’s square.”“Oh, great,” Beck exhaled in relief. “I know you haven’t had much time. It’s just that we’re headed out again, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to call. The targets weren’t where they were supposed to be. Lousy fucking CIA intelligence.”